BBB Poem 67

A market town in Lincolnshire
A cash machine with parking spaces
Mon, Tues, Thurs, 30 Mins No return in 30 Mins
The lady, in the estate car
Straddles two bays, such is her rush
Then, after visiting the bank
She moves her car forwards a couple of feet
A small girl, possibly the driver's daughter
Wears a sky-blue ribbon in her hair
They walk off, across the square
I wonder if I shouldn’t time them
With a sort of sense of civic duty

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BBB Poem 66

It does not take a lot
To remind me of my stealthy departure
Leaving you for the last time
I drove for fifteen minutes
Through the early morning frosted sunlight
To park up, beside the black water pool
High on Dartmoor’s random terrain

That thought in turn takes me back
To that very same, isolated moorland road
On a snow filled night around Christmas
A reckless decision
To make such a dangerous journey
Where all ahead was a works party, without you

I ask for a replacement cup of coffee
The original was neither black, nor strong
In truth the second cup was little better
A connoisseur may tell you
That the coffee was burnt
I trail off, with those unsure, indecisive words
I hope you might see
This poem is no longer for you, or about you

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BBB Poem 65

Love, at its worst
In your tear stained, tear filled eyes
In your wavering, quivering small voice
In your entire abandonment of hope

Love, which had tore into you
Without disguise, or mask
Without certainty, or promise
Without regard for pain

And now here you are
With your love being unrequited
With barriers drawn, yet
With doors left ever so slight ajar

Daring you to repeat yourself
Encouraging you to repeat the performance
In this way he shows his weakness
In this way he shows his love, at its worst

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BBB Poem 64

I don’t have the tears
I don’t carry that hollow feeling within me
I don’t go out into the night, or out into the day
With the total loss of loss for companion

Instead I have an understanding
I have reconciled myself to the facts
Yes I do still occasionally indulge sadness
But twelve years down the line life is easier

Of course the writing helps; it is healing
It is cathartic, it is therapeutic
And yes, I have to tell you, I must tell you
That just now and then, it stops me in my tracks

Sends me off in the search of past times
(For I know there to be no future)
All of my life being lived again
In no more than a few remembered moments

I don’t have the tears
But see you can’t help yours
I feel for your desperation
Your hollowed out core

I see that you want to wander
Wilful into the night
Carrying the unbearable weight
Of your loss with you

I have only a sideline understanding
I do try to tease out a few facts, words such
That I might pin on some assistance
To propel you, re-energised, into the turmoil

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BBB Poem 63

Escape to pure indulgence
Awake to a fresh frame of mind
Certain of the uncertainties
Sure of the insecurities

The clearer the put down
The more conscious the response
The calmer the attempt at closure
The more ferocious ones reaction

And with those few words
The here, and the now, becomes forever
Yet, with no lack of quaint absurdity
The past, and the future, are drawn together

What I am looking for at this time
Is something way more impenetrable
Say like a fortress castle wall
Ten feet thick and then some

Then, with the safety of pure resilience
To stake a claim to become ruthless
Pertain to a clearer opportunity
Shaming, shaking your impunity

Hard knocks, are harder to call
Brick blocks, they build the wall
Close doors, to witness the stroll
Dust on floors, ask cameras to roll

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