BBB Poem 22

Sands, firm wet sands
A brave red sunrise
Sands, soft dry sands
A wild red sunset

You
Brave, and red
You
Wild, and wet

Restaurant, de-luxe
Patrons, chic, classy
Restaurant, Michelin star
Patrons, beautiful bodies

You
Chic, classy
You
Beautiful body

Fashions, haute-couture
Tight, clinging
Fashions, fabricated gold
Loose, swirling

You
Haute-couture
You
Tight, swirling

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BBB Poem 21

The boats could be in St Ives
But no, they are not
The sky, and the sea, could be blue, and azure
But no, they are cloud grey, and murky taupe

The hotel could be in St Mawes
But no, it is not
The bedrooms could be five star boutique
But no, they are net curtained, dormer windows

The castle could be Warwick, or Carcassonne
But no, certainly not
Dining could be a gastronomic adventure
But no, it is cold pie, in the bus shelter

The shops could be arts, and crafts, and unique
But no, no, not at all
Buying gifts could be a pleasure of celebration
But no, it is pearl, or pearl, or pearl

The writing could be gentle, and purposeful
But no, most definitely not
The words could be observational, and sincere
But no, today it is sarcasm, that rules the roost

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BBB Poem 20

It was a winter’s night
Or was it early spring
Either way it was dark
As we came out of the restaurant
Just up the hill from the floodlit castle

It wasn't the first time
That you had rebuffed me
But on this particular occasion
You had taken me out for a romantic meal
To break the news of closure

Repeatedly you reminded me
Of my responsibilities to my family
Repeatedly I reminded you
That that stretch of my life was behind me
That, for my souls sake, I had had to move on

You did not want to pull close to me
Outside under the street light
You did not want me to hold you
Not closely, not intimately
Not in any sort of public declaration

But I hung on in there
And we talked, on our return drive
Five miles or more, along the coast road
You took me into your house, upstairs
Into your lounge, there to sleep on your floor

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BBB Poem 19

I have not found you yet
But I have, believe me, been looking
No, I have not found you yet

I have surveyed the coasts and beaches
Where, believe me, I have been looking
Yes, I have surveyed the coasts and beaches

I have climbed towers and breakwaters
Where, believe me, I searched and searched
Yes, I have climbed towers and breakwaters

I have driven; north, south, east, and west
Where, believe me, I kept a keen lookout
Yes, I have driven; north, south, east, and west

I dined in beach cafes, and fine restaurants
Where, believe me, I may taste your presence
Yes, I dined in beach cafes, and fine restaurants

I shopped, in high streets, and market halls
Where, believe me, clothes you wore still hang
Yes, I shopped, in high streets, and market halls

I have set myself, to the sun, the wind, the rain
Where, believe me, I sensed skin, as  your skin
Yes, I set myself, into the sun, the wind, the rain

I have not given up on you yet
Believe me, I have kept on saying that
No, I have not given up on you yet

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BBB Poem 18

It is easier for me to write
Than it is for me to sketch or paint
For one thing I am less certain
Of my mistakes, with the written word

Also I am able to go back in time
To many places; all at a once almost
And I can root around, to find my feelings
To gather in; my past, my present emotions

And as I attempt to convey what I feel
Of love, lust, longing, and loss
I myself share in, and enrich my imagination
With feelings, of love, lust, longing, and loss

The writer's world is left, right, back, and front
Above, and below
To the very extremes of perception
Writings of witnessing the vanishing horizon

Between land, and sky, and sea
Listening intently, and seriously engaged
By David Hockney, talking on the radio
About art, as I soaked in my moonlit bath

The certainty, that one word will follow another
A couple of words will be offered up to me
By a view, by music, by dance-steps, by a film
Of the seasons; meditations, an island in a lake

And, in contrast
By the doubt that the words will not be read
Or will not be understood
By the person, or by the audience

For whom they were aimed at
For whom, and without whom
They have no purpose
Neither in this life, nor in the next life

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