I hear voices

Wood; turned, sanded, polished and varnish

Worthwhile work

Worthy of saving you from the sanatorium

A pint of beer, a reminisce

Of whatever happened

In that society of social gathering

Inside another room, twenty seven cubic metres

Nowhere further

For your outreach thoughts to roam

Should anybody work it out

The past is to pass it on

About that other idea, to clear you out

A coffee cup, a cake, an interrupted conversation

Stay awhile, please don’t go

Help me to understand

I like you, you are quite ordinary, and you see

I am frightened, I am afraid

Of becoming old, of being a responsible adult

It’s fun to play, to think unruly thoughts

Not to go home; not now or ever

Never not never to settle down

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Cake and Ale

Rectangular slots

Punched

With a fifty-tonne, more or less

Up and down printers press

Round wire loops

Bound

With a mothers son, more or less

In and out the crimplene dress

On the coffee table

Or by the kitchen fire

Madeira baked in the cooker

Of that we ever never tire

This booklet of mine

Rectangular rooms

Roundabout the houses

With a mothers son

Flowered vases

Peonies and posies

Victoria, Birdsedge

And Hepworth school

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Wave don’t clown

This one minute, sat without a worry

About where the next minute will be

Although soon to be there, no worry

The pile of tick- tock cycles

A pyramid, or fire stack, interwoven

Interlocked, tick-tock, tick-tock

Pendulum, pendulum

Once again around the block

Pendulum, tick-tock

This one minute, sat as you say goodbye

Why, where will the next moment be

Although soon to be there will I

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Is it

The journey or the place

Being with you

Or not to know how it is

In any other

To be going

Or to be still

With you

Among daft smiles

Window cill, daffodil

Out to the wisteria

Under

And over

The thickened

Twisted branches

This chance lasted

Or began again

Not to show how it is

In any other

But to see

Openness and stillness

With you

Among, as we laughed awhile

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On thinking of Willoughby Creek

Would that it should come to this

The tingle of the ill fitted skin

Rattles of roughened blood

Always at the junction

By the flat stood toes

The battle of

Does it matter anymore

Or

Fearful of misrepresentation

The footsteps on the shore

The blue sky with shiny

Silver cloud

Morning

Of sweet separation

Of what I could not know

The loud exhaust

And skin tight muffler

Laid, by who knows atop the radiator

Always at the window

As by the fast flood goes

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