Ibis Styles

I have booked the hotel

I am taking a two-day break

To prepare this work

For the Arvon poetry-collection course

I did have a doubt

I wondered if my Working Type

Could become a poem novel or a novel poem

I do care for how it reads

Yet without the Arvon motivation

How would 2004 survive

We didn’t survive

So why should a slim volume of poems

To talk of joy

As in that last piece

Seems pretty wide of the mark

Yet, here in the present

With a different room

For me to look forwards to

That always inviting space

Which is YSP

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Joie De Vivre

I can say

That these words bring me joy

They make me

Feel good about myself

I could say more

But that might

Give the game away

I don’t want to do that

I don’t want to reveal all

For these are personal words

Their disclosure

May cause embarrassment

Or pain

Almost for sure

There would be no joy now

Though absolutely no chance

Of these words being reflected

Not in the same solitary room context

As happened back in the day

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Weighing In

Not always

The sunlight

Dancing on the waves

Not always

The butterfly

On the drift of the breeze

But today

Although not starting well

Is picking up

I have this place to sit

I have this window to look out of

I have this pen with which to write

Not always

The hurt

Dips into the void

Not always

The cruelty

Is left alone

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Toughest Moments

I am losing you

I believe that is

More or less

What you would have wanted

Last week

I returned to Forest Row

There was little or no angst

Left to overturn

Instead

Five days of continuous sun

Meditations

With the Community of Interbeing

I heard

Other people’s stories

How lucky then

Have we been

One teacher

Told her story

Of losing

Her unborn child...

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Plans, Christopher; They Are For Changing

A morning for organisation - of sorts

Updates to the weekly planner

Recognising those things which I do do

Acknowledging those things which clearly I don’t

Making the necessary promises to myself

I am supposed to be compiling a database

From the year dot to the year whenever

But as an integral part of the process

I foolishly determined to rewrite

All of the poems, yes, every last one

In a way that is how this book started; I was intensely

Frustrated by the years before two-thousand and five

My records where at best spasmodic, at worst absent

So, if I was going to be rewriting the old poems

Then why not simply start anew, with fresh words

Of course, as often happens, the plot thickens 

So now I write of the events of 2004 but in 2018

Yet I also include words from reference sources

Which I have to tell you, I had not thought to access

Back in the day so to speak

But right here, right now, I can’t help myself

For as much as the vulva nostalgia works for me

I am also attracted by the world of psychology

The psychoanalysis of what goes on

In this fruitful little mind of mine

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