Mud flats, changeable weather
Winds that bring water to the eyes
And the landlord who says
The storms are on their way
Not sounding too good is it
Thank heavens for crab sandwiches
For clam chowder, good company
Conviviality and Mulligatawny soup
IPA or hand pulled half-pints
Of Old Speckled Hen, later a glass or two
Of mulled wine, then biscuits with cheese
Afterwards, chocolate segments slowly taken
From the foil wrapped orange blocks
Go on, put up the Christmas lights
In search of beauty
To rediscover self
Before life took
Its impenetrable hold
The photograph
Taken too quickly
A snapshot with
No time to it at all
Tell me; which part of I
Did you not understand
And just how much of
This land is your land
Or my land anyway
It's raining in South Brent
It's raining in South Brent
I wonder if you meant
This line so heaven sent
It's raining in South Brent
It's raining on the moor
The days are damp and dour
Life's landlocked for the poor
It's raining on the moor
It's sunny in the bay
A funny kind of day
We sail the first of May
Bad boys are out to play
It's sunny in the bay
Go back
Unfold the darkness
Open the sunlight
On the Saturday morning bookstore
The sack is emptied of its juices
The rise and fall of troy is left undone
Nuisance sits nearby to nuance
Memory resides alongside mnemonic
Peak experiences sleep
Along the uneven horizons
They rise deep, to peep
At the sorrowful stars
Still somewhat behind you
Here to take a short vacation
With my book: The poetics of space
The helicopter flies low overhead
The camouflaged sound of the Royal Marines
A picture; a print, in the style of Monet,
But pink, is reflected in the window
And in the mirror, and in the screen
Of the ubiquitous institutional television
Later I will arrive where two rivers meet
Where the moorlands waters plunge
Into the fast flowing ravines
Then onwards to the beach, to collect
A few pebbles, a photograph, a memento
