In Search of True

There really was no conversation!
Matisse, in the Museum of Modern Art
He caught the yellows, the fire of her sun
But otherwise...

The curve of the leather settee
Strewn with cushions and headphones
Tells something of a story
But otherwise...

That Fridays could become an entirely
New kind of day, where routines
Are now followed any other way
But otherwise...

It is no more, no more than a mindless
Distraction, mindful of the choice
To practice, yet again practice
Or otherwise...

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See-Saw

Crossing the bridge
Having just bought
The leeks and the sweet potatoes
Still thirty miles from home;
Warm feelings, calm feelings
Pleasant feelings
Feelings for you, feelings for me
Feelings for the two of us
Together

Scouring images
Having just logged on
To the laptop computer
Settling in, to a shared space;
Vague reminders, sharp reminders
Fanciful reminders
Reminders of you, reminders of me
Reminders of the two of us
Apart

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Reverberations

Sparkling waters I hear you in my dreams

Cool water, flowing down
Your clear mountain streams
O sparkling waters, I hear you in my dreams

Then I turn, turning round
I ask what does it mean
Sparkling waters that I hear you in my dreams

Do you wish to take me
From where my sadness seems
O sparkling waters, when I hear you in my dreams

You are as the song
I have heard soft and serene
Sparkling waters how I hear you in my dreams

O sparkling waters, o how I hear you in my dreams

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Relics

From the brutal
Concrete wall
To the softer face
Of the silver-sand beach

From the shallows
Where we strolled
To that loftier place
Where we stood to preach

Between the words
And the fabrics
Between the noise
And the cutter

All in all
It is the distance
From this pathway
To the stutter

All in all it is
In this instance
About the kernel
And the unpeeled nut…er

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Country Life

The bacon sizzles, into a crispy state
My nostrils are bathed in the aroma
Of frying fat, of frying pig

There are voices on the radio
Snippets of conversation from
The year just gone

Peter, whilst cooking
Talks about
The Venice Biennale

Then shows me his photographs
Of the local ‘shoot’
Such atmospheric beauty

Ploughed fields, long grasses
Wellington boots, long-guns, magazines
And the innocence of children

For them it is the first time
For me it is the latest time
For you it is the only time

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