Waterside

The alarm clock misses its beat

Our feet touch and we talk of dreams

The meaning of our sleep it seems

Wrapped in paper, left by the keep

In the park where you showed me headstones

The old bones, uncovered and moved to one side

The pride of civilisation, they cried

We lied, and sang of Me and Mrs Jones

Unknown to another generation

Later or earlier, after, before, or in between

Unseen by angels and painters, redeemed

By atheists, agnostics, and the freighter

Which funnels the flow along the leat

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Follow the sun, or is it more than that 13

You play The ride of the valkyries

I play Conquest of paradise

You drive down Mulholland

I go through my village to the moor

Your landscapes are mountains

And deserts, lands open of fear

My hillsides are for shepherds

For winds, and cheek red tears

I turn, full round in either direction

In this twilight the twinkles

Of the cities illuminate the depths

Of the valleys, indicate the journeys

To the centres of our earths

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Insulation

In a cosy pub, away from your mother

With your mates, light ale, or the new mixture

Of lager and ice cold Irish cider; you say

You won't stay long, before you get on home

To the television and the chatter

Yes, the natter of what you did with your day

Not that it matters, unless of course

You've confounded everyone and got a job

Or once again picked up the calendar

With artwork by Vermeer, or passed the scent

Of lilies in bloom, or explained how to develop

The recipe of sauce for Beef Wellington

And if you do hear us say, without thought… if only

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Estranged

If you had a caravan

Would that make you

A particular kind of person

If then in November

You camped on the top

Of this most desolate of moors

Would that say something

About how you fit into society

In an hour, or less

It will be total darkness

Later the whisper of silence will arrive

I wonder to knock on your door

But ask myself, are you alone?

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Before I go to my brothers

A smidgin of pink in a vast grey

A slip of silver white fading to blue

Creases of browns, half full blacks

Dull oranges turning to red

On the other side of the tarmacadam

On the other side of the interrupted

White lines; in both and all directions

Car headlights leave a twinkled glow

Even without the rain, which surely visits

Or has visited already, settled itself down

Into the squidgy peat bogs or drained itself

Off into catchments to by passed escarpments

Bracken-water, for coagulation and chlorination

To become crystal clear and drinkable once more

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