Walking
To the café
Alone
In the country
Many places
Tourist traps
As well as on salt marshes
I think of you
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Walking
To the café
Alone
In the country
Many places
Tourist traps
As well as on salt marshes
I think of you
Nowhere else to go
We recognise the shapes
Circle square rectangle dot
What more then to show
We wear the capes
Mountain sea river spot
There is a tree
I wish to find
Which I last climbed
In Nineteen-Sixty-Three
The end of the fool
I passed the Eleven-plus
Travelled by Baddeley’s bus
To Penistone Grammar School
It was a time of fear
Innocence was raised
Nightmares invaded
Eyes and mind once so clear
| Available at Amazon |