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Monday 13 February 2017

Doubt

A change of gear
Yes maybe that was to blame
Alone in the car for the first time
In rather a long time

Alone and travelling home after several days
Together at the seaside
We you and I and those friends we made
Now returning from

The sea which reflected the light
The light which reflected the joy
The joy which reflected the love
The love which reflected togetherness

Yet so so very soon afterwards here I am alone
With a slight depression with a darkness with the doubt
A change of scene perhaps travelling West to East
Instead of following pathways East to West

The West where the sun sets
The East where the sun rises
The journey where thoughts find time to falter
The vacation where we had sought out each other


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Sunday 12 February 2017

Return

There is a calm
The leaves on the trees are almost still
You playback telephone messages in your study

Among the post of many letters
Is the bill
For the first half of our vacation

Also a book of poems Pilgrim
By the poet and philosopher
David Whyte once of Yorkshire

The light was on in the wooden-floored hallway
I noticed that when I first came in
The light was on and here we are at midday already

With exclusive offers for a cruise down the Mekong Delta
Or house insurance
With a free eighty pounds (£80-00) M&S voucher

The calm after the storm the NFU Mutual brochure claims
Yet I take it otherwise rather the storm after the calm
A calm which may take quite some time to return


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Saturday 11 February 2017

Sunlight

Heavy curtains hung by hoops from a circular pole
Hanging straight each side of the twin doors
One open one closed both
Give sight of the vertical and square wooden railings
Which in turn prevents ones eyes seeing
Straight across the bay
To where the morning mist rises from the sea
Where the brightest of bright sunlight
Escapes from the whitest-gold of clear blue skies
Light which falls onto the mercury of waves
Mercurial in their constant ebbing and flowing
Mercurial as if of the silver
Of Slade's guitarist's silver platform sole boots
Yes that's right Dave Hill's silver knee-high boots

All of which is a brightness reflecting
The kind of kindness that I read of earlier
If light was considered as sound
This light truly would be a sonic bombardment
Noisier than AC DC's thrash metal at the top of its game
Even measured in lux, or lumens
It is an orb of greatest propensity
With sufficient strength of purpose
To light up an entire ocean
To illuminate the whole of the sea


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Friday 10 February 2017

Yellow Boat Speckled Gull

Canary yellow at that or at least that dark yellow which borders on gold or gold leaf
Anyways a rich yellow which indeed suggests richness in the same way that the boat itself floats floats upon the azure sea

Is azure a blue or a green a turquoise or an emerald or the diamond the diamond of somewhere in between
Is it the azure that balances the sand colour of the soft sand beach is it the azure which highlights the silver of the silver white surf

Is it the sky blue of the blue sky which takes all the cares of the day away that sky blue which says to the grey clouds be off with you leave these nice folks alone
And in doing so opens itself ever wider ever more open to please the discerning and grateful eyes

And what of the black gull and the brown gull and the grey gull and the white gull and the speckled gull with whom none of the other gulls wish to be seen
And just what brought on the gulls frenzy was it my thoughts was I feeling mean towards them


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Thursday 9 February 2017

Train

Hear the zing from the ring of the bell
Hear the squeal of the iron wheel on the steel rail
Hear the lark of the crowds as they disembark

For a day at the seaside

Hear the soft roar of the tide
Hear the collide of the last of the seven waves
Hear the sound of the shift of the sand
As it fills in the shapes of your footprints

Listen to the whistle
Listen to the diesel engines acceleration
Listen to the slowly fading sounds of departure

After a day at the seaside

Listen to the lonely sound of the unloved gulls
Listen to the twilight tennis balls on slowed down racquets
Listen to the cry of the wee-baern
As he searches for his sleep

Home now wherever home might be
Memories then
For whenever memories might then be needed


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listen to christopher read on bandcamp