Somewhere Called Home

My words are treading carefully
For fear of saying love
My mind is skating warily
For fear of some word from above

Or some more coincidental confirmation
For already I know it
As the leaf strokes my face
I know it to be true

Yet I dare not say so
Should the truth disappear
So easily as it did at first
Appear

The careful tread
Then not to be misread
As any sign of caution
Other than the fair time to give for love to nurture

As one would give to any primrose
Or petunia
Or vacation
To a concert or a tropical isle

Or better still, we set ourselves
To longer conversations
Hand held conversations
Somewhere called home

Still there
For our words to be chosen carefully
Through our laughter
Our smiles, our tears, our faint repose

For all of that to be
Quite natural
Uplifting
It is that which we propose

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Washing

The shirts are dry and the underwear is so too
Soon it will be the time for the line of the hot iron
To discover and to deepen the colour of your blue
That blue which speaks to you as in the Speakeasy
Those Jazz nights at the Upper George in Halifax
Or down the stainless steel road at Stocksbridge's Silver Fox
A blue then with fusion links just as the Pelikan ink stains
The letters sent one by one to a close though distant lover
Or the words penned for one yet meant entirely for another

The jeans are dry and the wool socks are so too
Soon it will be the time for the layer and the care of folding
To organise and tidy making up the altogether neater you
The you that changes because for you change comes easy
As for that celebration dinner at the Idle Rocks in St Mawes
Or for high society on Ladies Day at Glorious Goodwood
The you that struts his stuff yet also poses as the flaneur
Clothes so finely cut by a tailor or by an experienced brute
Worn with a suit and a jacket over silk stockings and brogues

The morning was warm and dry the afternoon is so too
But you know that soon will be the time for the drawing in
For us to phase out this memory of summer and thus
To give me and the washing folk out there a clearer view

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Inkblot

Take that Rorschach test
Did it really show that we were heavenly bodies
Soulmates on a celestial plane
Forever compatible to our dying days
Or did I let the imagery and the initiation lead me on
Was it simply blue-black Pelikan ink splashed on velum paper
Folded and pressed to give an indication of lifelong symmetry
Yet it was not of course an exact duplication
For the forces of time and the dynamics of fluidity
Took their chance to make minuscule
Though not insignificant changes

Just as the plum tree try as it might
Cannot evenly balance its foliage
Having early on in its life suffered a terrible misfortune
Where its parent fell over and died
Leaving the young sapling to fend for itself
To lean away from the prevailing wind
To find the place where the sun shines the brightest
For the longest hours of each and every day

That I might understand this
From the science of horticulture
Does nothing to take away the fascination
Or the intrigue of that one particular inkblot moment

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Inkblot Preamble

I have a propensity
A desire almost a calling you could say
To better understand that other worldly stuff
Such that I might believe in these unexplained things
Which happen in my life which happen in my dreams

Especially if it is something which suggests
That I have more in common with you
Or that I am or maybe I am closer to you
Than might be apparent from this one world view
Which I mostly acknowledge

Also if it is something which suggests I have less in common
With someone who troubles me
Or some person
Who I for various reasons connected to you
Find implicitly…

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Blue

It is such a bloody good colour isn't it and when you read about the colour blue In Rebecca Solnit's book A Field Guide to Getting Lost you say to yourself she is a bloody good writer isn't she and after you have photographed all of the curators artworks in the Longside Gallery you again say to yourself they make bloody good pairings I should say don't they such that you go outside to purchase a black americano and a raspberry-sorbet ice cream and say to yourself this is the life it bloody well is isn't it as you sit down to look at the long field of tilled earth with the sun and the clouds shadows taking it in turn to sweep towards you and once again you say to yourself I'm so bloody well glad I came here today aren't I just now so excited you almost forget to mention the breeze which zips into your life and reminds you when as a teenager you scrambled wilful over the big-house estate walls and so you say to yourself I was bloody lucky to be born near here wasn't I to be able go to the Young Farmers dances on high days and holidays there down the road by the triangle at Cawthorne and so yet again you say to yourself isn't it just magic to have memories to look back on yes it bloody well is isn't it such that today couples and families walk up the path which you often strode down when walking here alone from your mothers which makes you think to say to yourself she was a bloody good mum and she looked happy in that blue dress now didn't she bloody well just

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