Yet someone built this
Somebody took enough care
To dig out a French drain
And fill it with shingle
Somebody painted the cladding
In Yves Klein blue
Perhaps to give
The place an international feel
An artist’s workplace
It would seem to say
Not a dwelling for lemonade
Or cakes, or croquet on the lawn
Sunday, 30 September 2018
Saturday, 29 September 2018
Found
I came upon a blue hut
And sat beneath its window
Upon this slice of a log
A Potter’s studio
Or a writer's place of solitude
With a stand-up desk
Outdoors the grass is untended
A roll of chicken wire
Lays moribund, in the centre
Of the five metres square patch
Of rural roughness, on its way back
To nature, freed of mankind's nurture
And sat beneath its window
Upon this slice of a log
A Potter’s studio
Or a writer's place of solitude
With a stand-up desk
Outdoors the grass is untended
A roll of chicken wire
Lays moribund, in the centre
Of the five metres square patch
Of rural roughness, on its way back
To nature, freed of mankind's nurture
Friday, 28 September 2018
Happened
In the dream you wished me well
Sent me off to my work
With a hug and a wave
That is after I had cleared out
All of the rubbish
From the old Ford Mondeo
You talked of parks
And ponds
Your day ahead
Almost exactly
As it was
Those twenty-eight years ago
Sent me off to my work
With a hug and a wave
That is after I had cleared out
All of the rubbish
From the old Ford Mondeo
You talked of parks
And ponds
Your day ahead
Almost exactly
As it was
Those twenty-eight years ago
Thursday, 27 September 2018
Eventful
Where might those
Together afternoons
Have gone to
Would the colours
Have faded in the
Twice-weekly wash
Where might those
Tricky love words
Have moved on to
Would the essences
Have frayed, in the
Twice-yearly exposure
Together afternoons
Have gone to
Would the colours
Have faded in the
Twice-weekly wash
Where might those
Tricky love words
Have moved on to
Would the essences
Have frayed, in the
Twice-yearly exposure
Wednesday, 26 September 2018
Wishful
There is a modernist in me
Or at least a soul
Who looks out for good quality
Which is then named as neat
Or right, or appropriate
Or correct, or well placed
He, as himself might care to be
Named by those self-same words
Particularly well placed
Instead he halfway tells us
Of an old love story
Which didn’t run its course
Or at least a soul
Who looks out for good quality
Which is then named as neat
Or right, or appropriate
Or correct, or well placed
He, as himself might care to be
Named by those self-same words
Particularly well placed
Instead he halfway tells us
Of an old love story
Which didn’t run its course
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