Pages

Wednesday 21 January 2015

The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 9

Slight breeze
Worn away boulders
Relics of the flood plain

The evenings horizons are transitory
What appears also disappears
Light falls exponential
Coldness gallops through

Strokes in haste; passionate youth
Joined together
By the pasts previous absence

Great stones, about to tumble
Balanced precarious
Dampness and cold
Sit close by, on the shoulder

Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo
Free of all other species
Old posts by the highway
Fine grass in silhouette

Tune in; zoom in
Smaller than the midge
Slower than the slug
Faster than the ant

Bah, bah, bah
As if in time
It is their turn

Deep on the moor
Rise and flight
Of the Canadian Goose
Surely not, not a Canadian Goose

Messages, or symbols, or dreams

A sort of heavenly occasion
Disturbed only


free on soundcloud
free on ibooks
free on youtube

Tuesday 20 January 2015

The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 8

Trees
Horizon

I Sit, or am laid out, either way it is to take the humbler point of view

Yeos farm
Haddon Hills
Dunchideock
Robert & Janet
A good combination

Rock
Shared with moss
And the beginnings
Of a bilberry bush

Stems touched
Clung with water droplets
I wait for the artist
To gather his thoughts

Arches
Curves
Mist
Telegraph wires half out west

Quiet
Except for the babbling brook
Or the aeroplanes
On the cross Atlantic flight path

The occasional
Acceleration of a car
Travelling to or from the prison

A cavalcade
It is important to visit
While the light holds
For the portrait painter

Bent reeds


free on soundcloud
free on ibooks
free on youtube

Monday 19 January 2015

The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 7

Son number two over that range of hills
In cowboy black I sit alone
Almost on top of the world

Slight wind
Maybe a zephyr
Among the grasses
Across the page
Through my thinning hair

Aircraft noise, out of sight
We are dreamers, one and all
Cut through or cut into the dust
Party time, it is too cold to fall

East
And North
Further than the crows flight
Quieter than the crows squawk

It could be that night 
Summer evening up on Red Hill
That time, when
We were together

The sky was clearer
Yet I doubt any nearer
The time was dearer
We had no need to fear

Newly mown grass
Cocooned in bales of hay
Scent as fine as Yves Saint Laurent
White cotton blouse, weighed in

This is play
Time almost stood still
Smell of earth
All about the nostrils
Photographs
Of bluebells


free on soundcloud
free on ibooks
free on youtube

Sunday 18 January 2015

The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 6

Ineffective & frustrated
It cannot always be someone else's fault
Yet how I often I fancy myself to be blameless

Scents surround the stories
Soft words, softer when spoken
Book, half read, beside the bed
Letters on the side left unopened

Bones, intact
Breath approaches steady
Confidence attacked
Many times over

More often than not
The end came too soon
More often than not
The words could have been kinder

Pre school years
Post traumatic stress
Families gather
All along the vacation trail

I am told
That on a good day
You can see five counties
Albeit one of them is in Wales

Early evening mist, draped over the hills
A chill breeze drives over my shoulder
I may holler as much as I wish
Only the songbirds will hear

Sunlight slips into the grey western sky
Bluebells in waves down the bank
Old trunks reach up with new leaf
Rapeseed fields catch the eye

Email from son number one
 - Stay in touch


free on soundcloud
free on ibooks
free on youtube

Saturday 17 January 2015

The long and the short of a part of my life Volume 1 Page 5

Shall I walk also
Return, to sit and talk
And laugh just as he did

Not easy to know where to start & if I do not know where to start then where should I enquire? What should I let be the forces to take me? It seems the big question always hangs about, there but not talked of; no venture to challenge, instead I settle for an I that enjoys breath and beauty. Yet is this sufficient, are there purposes to this life still to be explored, if so what tools should I gather, to gain the certainty of discovery.

Arthur cut up his bread
Weighed it, before and after the spread of butter
Taught me how to drink eggs - though I cannot do it now
A small man, five foot four at the most
Always clean shaven, thin grey hair neatly brushed
Often he wore a knee length, fawn raincoat
On top of a good, but old, bespoke tailor-made suit
His photograph, taken at Lands End stood by the signpost
That shows all the places that he and Elsie might have gone

We made each other laugh, I thought he had subtle humour, I was brash. More than humour we both had a desire for learning; Arthur Kaye told me of his going to management college, to learn business skills, because the factory owners son wasn't up to it. I told him about Nikola Tesla and Michael Faraday, from my world of Electrical Engineering. Even then, thirty years ago I recognised in my grandfather a sense of calm and assurance that I continue to seek. Yet in his final days he became angst and angry, angry with the whole world; I was completely confused, some days I still am.

I have the energy to make her laugh
Though I doubt that to be uncommon
Equally I have the power, or reserve, to wish I had not gone a step too far
It is it seems, always about knowing where to start, where to end
Yes I do have untrammelled enthusiasm
Ability to become engrossed, carried away
Without thinking to understand about the serious implications of the detail
That will undoubtably follow. That is the hub of it
Laughter
Love



free on soundcloud
free on ibooks
free on youtube