BBB Poem 32

The love was too strong
It hid all the sufferances
The love went on too long
It followed the circumferences

Why would I write that
Why would I construct
Or record these utterances

Why would I want you to know
The chances that I'd taken
The hopes and the undulations

The love was too tough
It bid all the challenges
The love became too rough
It wallowed in the imbalances

Why would I write to you
Why would I deduct
Or inform the dalliances

Why would I share this
The images that were torn
As I stripped back the valances

The love was real
It undid all the differences
The love was to feel
To re-open the sufferances

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BBB Poem 31

I go out into the garden
In the fresh morning air
But where has my zafu gone
I must have misplaced it

I feel the cooler breeze
Over my skin, under my linen shirt
I listen to the album Atomos
By Winged victory for the sullen

Are you searching for something
Which I do not give to you
Are you quietly saying to me
That we each have our own past lives

Are you leaning, as the plum tree leans
Towards the light, towards the sun
Towards the source of growth
Is it more growth which you crave

The concert hall in Los Angeles
Is not lost to me, although
The music that evening was not special
But I do have a CD to remind me

Of the visitation of angels, which was
A place, at that particular moment in time
Where I often lost myself, or where
I allowed my mind to wander in joy

My past is almost unapproachable now
I guess that is why I am still writing
That is why I sit out in the garden
To gather the splinters from a past life

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BBB Poem 30

It is a tunnel
A telescope
A path across a vista

A route map for correspondence
And communication
Between lovers, and lovers of life

It is a train
An aeroplane
A ways, and a means

Of moving, from here, to there
And back again
For lovers, for lovers of life

It is a stream
A river
A never ending flow of cool water

From the source, to the sea
All around the cycle
As with lovers, as with lovers of life

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BBB Poem 29

The marching band is present
So are the mowers of lawns
I could be in Mornington Crescent
Or where one sees the salmon spawns

Yet, from this quiet corner
I see the pile of garden waste
I am, as if the wayward mourner
Who left his past in clouds of haste

But I have the towering willow
And apple trees bearing fruit
My lovers head is on her pillow
And much the same I will follow suit

Not denying part, or all, of my creation
Not looking for ways in, nor ways out
It is my time alone, this nation
Where I ease away the seeds of doubt

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BBB Poem 28

It is still a summer breeze
Even after our Channel Islands vacation
There are still leaves on the trees
Even after I surveyed the state
Of that small station

The pampas grass commands the views
Its circumference doubled
Thanks to sun and rain
I am listening to Nils Frahm
His album titled Screws

In my gentle meditation
I am thankful for the pain
The little yellow wheelbarrow
Does not know where to sit
The jet fighters manoeuvres

They rock the ground and the sky
Captain Corelli’s Mandolin
Those houses that took a hit
The world's ammunition factories
O why, o why, o why

It is still a summer breeze
Beneath the mid-August daydream
There are apples, there are peaches to seize
There are thoughts, of love
Love on which to scheme

There are masses of blackberries
Although some still a youthful red
The garden eases, teases out my worries
Lets me write those missing words
Those words which I never ever said

The grass seeds, which I planted backalong
Have covered the bare and damaged ground
The thymes, the reed grass
All are coming on strong
The pianist, and the bass player, gift their song

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