BBB Poem 45

The dew is on the grass
Yes I know, I am missing two syllables
But I am singing their song already

The sand is on the beach
Yes I know, that line is not even in there
However, the past is all I have to teach me

For don't you see, no now don't you
The light, so early
The light so surely transports you

For with a tune in the head
And a pot of tea in the hand
God damned youth I wished to kiss you again

Restrained, minimally, as I am
By being the only existentialist
In the room at the moment

If only the Everly Brothers
Had been around
Their sound might well have saved me

Bade me not to walk barefoot in the grass
Nor to pass up the chance
To dance the night away, dance the night away

Yet, all in all, the call has to be made
That it's been a good year for the roses
Highlighted by walking out in the morning dew

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BBB Poem 44

First I felt the lack of light
As I stood at the stove cooking dinner
All the while listening to Craig Finn
Sing from his album
We all want the same things

Last night he saw something
Which he didn't see coming
But I can tell you, I knew that this night
The rains were on their way, and the deluge
The downpour did not in any way disappoint

The double glazed French doors
They took the brunt of it
Yet the advertisers feather would still float
The designers, the manufacturers, the installers
Should be proud; the weather was kept at bay

The torrential rain continues, sounds arise
From all sides of the house
And from the rooftops, where
The chimney pots are also getting battered
Yet, from my Harris Tweed vantage point

I can see a patch of silver-blue sky
Away out in the distance
I can see through the shear vertical raindrops
Yes, the Union flag hangs limp, lost on this day
But the blossom tree says; I can handle this

Though that is before I see
The first streaks of lightning
Closely followed, by the thunder’s rumble
The silver-blue sky smiles, as if about to say
Come to me now why don't you, I am waiting

I think of the passions
And the longings
I think to the desires
And those many other destructions
Long now gone

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BBB Poem 43

I feel altogether elemental
No, I know it's not the right word
But I have to claim something
Claim the erectness
Claim the fluidity of the moment
In stocking feet, gliding faultlessly
Over the wooden hallway floor
I am here, I am now, I am mindful
That to feel so good is a wonder
Which I ought to breathe in
Which I ought to breathe out
Time, and time, and time again
Of course there are rubbish bins to empty
Dishwashers to unload
New CD’s to be loaded onto the computer
But hey ho
Already today I have watched Lachlan Goudie’s
Awesome Beauty, The Art of Industrial Britain
Which both confirmed my love of nostalgia
As well as my belief in the future of youth
The future of humanity
Who have lived in, and still do live in
A life worth living

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BBB Poem 42

Right now I am sat
In a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

What would it feel like
To sit in another chair, in another room
With nothing pressing to be done

I think of Buckfast Monastery
Sat in a bedside chair, in a visitors room
With nothing pressing to be done

Rapidly then I think
Of all of those chairs, in all of those rooms
With nothing pressing to be done

I wonder what it means, or feels like
To sit on a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

The pleasure of the sunlight streaming
As I sat, on a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

The restlessness, caused by the grey clouds
As I sat, on that same chair, in that same room
With nothing pressing to be done

Allowing the dullness of weather to affect me
As I sat, on a chair, in a room
With nothing pressing to be done

To see the red leaves, brightened by the rain
As I sit, on that chair, in that room
With nothing pressing to be done

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BBB Poem 41

It is the day when I said I would start walking
Of course it is raining, but only a fine drizzle
Yet still sufficient to delay my departure

It is the fifth day of the cricket test match
Between England, and the West Indies
Much had been made before this game

About the poor state
Of West Indies cricket, some
Said terminal decline

Yet here, on the final day, they are
Still in with a chance
Albeit some say, a small chance

Seventeen minutes to go until lunch
Two hundred and fifty runs
Are needed for victory

Or eight wickets have to fall
Before defeat could be
Some say would be, confirmed

All around me
I have distractions
To save me from the walking

Yet it is the cricket commentary
Yes, TMS is the itch
Which I simply cannot foil to scratch

I ought to tell you
That I recently bought a cagoule
Especially for

Changeable weather such as this
I see it now staring out at me
From the chair back

The LBW shout is given not out
My new coat’s shout
Is given not out

The Test Match Special team move on
To discuss ways of playing bridge
They too are also so so easily distracted

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