BBB Poem 14

I didn't take breakfast at the breakwater
I came here
Because you may have wanted me to
Though I have no memory
Of St Catherine, or of being here with you

Move on

To Rozel Bay
Where Beau Couperon hotel as was
Is now a ten million pounds private dwelling
With its own steps onto the beach
From the door in the battlement wall

I came here
Because we stayed in the one-time hotel
Which is now someone’s house
I remember a balcony, a shingle beach
I remember rock-pools, a meal in the restaurant

Wasn't it the year we went to St Malo
Also to Samares Manor
I know these facts
Because of the photographs, stored digitally
On many computers, since those very days

Move on

To Archirondel, and the Driftwood Cafe
Where I have ordered breakfast
Taken snaps of sea, and rocks, and the tower
I don't recall sitting here with you
Yet I feel I must have

I imagine, that in ten years time, or so
This place
Will also have gone upmarket
In the style of El Tico, and La Braye at St Ouens
Altogether more gentrified than I remember

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BBB Poem 13

It is a blue sky Saturday morning
I could wear a white shirt, and denim jeans
I ought to walk alongside the harbour
And take a coffee, at the top of the slip

I should sit, and wait
I should sit, and be
And in between the waiting, and the being
I remember, that I am no longer with you

It is a sun filled Saturday morning
I could take a bath, have a shave
I ought to soak, perspire even
And make myself thoroughly pleasant

I should stroll, and sojourn
I should be the flaneur
And in between the bathing, and the strolling
I remember, that I am no longer with you

It is a bright light Saturday morning
I could lay your clothes out
I ought to layer your silks
And use the mirror to choose the colours

I should skip, and laugh
I should smile with joy
And in between the joy, and the laughter
I remember, that I am no longer with you

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BBB Poem 12

In that distance, which you talked about
Do you ever hope to find me
Yes I am there, I do wait, I often wait
Yet it tires me, the wait wears me out

In that nearness, when you touch me
Do you know how good I feel
Yes I am there, to love you, I often love you
Yet it needs me, love calls me out

That the distance, and the nearness
Conspire to keep you from me
Yes I am here, to wonder, I often wonder
Yet it feels me, wonder finds me out

In that time, which I dwell in
Do you care for where I am
Yes, I want to be, I do doubt, often I doubt
Yet it leaves me, care wears me out

In that space, which I frequent
Do you hear me ticking over
Yes I have to do so, I shake, often I shake
Yet it catches me, space calls me out

Thus the times, and the spaces
Are arranged to keep you from me
Yes I want to be, I often have to do so
Yet they wrangle, they do so find me out

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BBB Poem 11

You cannot be with me today
And that is unfortunate
For the scented notes in the garden
I feel would be rather to your liking
As might the still water
In the restaurant, where I wait for lunch

The glass bottle
Has a fancy stopper contraption
Which, by my age, I ought to understand
How to operate; of course I do manage
Though you would not say
That mine was a dignified manoeuvre

You will not be with me tomorrow
Which vexes me
For we could have many opportunities
To take pleasure, and share enjoyment
Perhaps at the seaside
To take in the salt water’s air

Or to find a burbling stream
Out on the moors
Where we could take off our shoes
And paddle, before we sated ourselves
With love making, followed
By lashings of strawberries and cream

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BBB Poem 10

Sat, in the Garden of Mindfulness
At Doddington Hall
There are fountains
But also people talking loudly
As though they are mindful
Of their need to be heard
The gardener meanwhile
Respects the peace, he works
The soil relatively quietly
With his hoe, with his rake

One noisy woman
Is replaced by another, this time
A specie with gesticulation
And loosely flailing arms
The fountain, god bless the fountain
Masks the worst of her utterances
At last I am alone, with only the feint sound
Of children at play in the distance for company

If I knew the names of flowers I would tell you
The reds, the pinks, the whites
There are crimsons, yellows, and blues
And of course all nestled
In green foliage; green grass, green leaves
Green stalks, and green shoots
There is also a poppy, or two
Behind the big house and the rose garden

At ten-past-twelve or so, in the corner, a tree
At ten-to-twelve or so, a house, and a gate
The sky is grey, filled with cloud, yet I believe
Little threat of rain; it is warm, comfortable
With only the merest hint of birdsong

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