Preparations are underway
For a sort of official unveiling
The lamb was marinated overnight
And put in the oven by nine-thirty
The table, which once held my tools
Is cleaned and polished
Ready for the place settings
Prepared for its first use in a dining capacity
The pump was the first purchase
How is it possible to have a pond
Without water flowing
Yes, I do know that it is a simulation
This is not my childhood stream being damned
Or the rill, built in my second place of shelter
Yet for all of that
In some sympathetic, empathetic gesture
The margins are also sloping
A technique learnt
In a quite different place of shelter
Which, if only I had known it at the time
Was a transitory experience
A peak if you like
Only found once in a lifetime
Wednesday 5 February 2020
Tuesday 4 February 2020
This shelter, this shelter is evolving
This shelter, this shelter is evolving
Pebbles and cobbles are being washed
Then laid to rest
The refill of water is underway
For now it is for leaves and debris
But in the fullness of time
Well
Well, who knows
What the fullness of time brings
Pebbles and cobbles are being washed
Then laid to rest
The refill of water is underway
For now it is for leaves and debris
But in the fullness of time
Well
Well, who knows
What the fullness of time brings
Monday 3 February 2020
This is not yet a shelter
This is not yet a shelter
Even though
There are no doors or windows
The trap is still set
Waiting, as forever to be sprung
To dissipate this ground’s energy
To another place
And so it is the stillness which begs me
Which asks me
To find a peaceful aesthetic
That can only come about
Through the forces of manual labour
To move from the thoughts to the action
Then onto the eventual equilibrium
Only then will it be a shelter
With one eye closed to the light
With one ear turned away from the birdsong
The bird is on the branch
The sky is blue above
The apple tree begins to blossom
Why then not be more becoming
See that the lump hammer
And the miniature groins
All have a part to play
Yes, one must be fearful
Of the resurrection
Especially at this Easter Time
Although this shelter is not that shelter
Nor could it ever be
So press on with the construction
Enjoying the sublimity of the mind
Sunday 2 February 2020
This is my unfinished shelter
This is my unfinished shelter
A place distracted by a wheelbarrow
By a lump hammer, by a stonemason’s chisel
By a pair of well-worn workmen’s gloves
I see red tulips
I hear birds chirping
The sun is strong this Thursday
And tomorrow is Good Friday
There is a breeze
Wasn’t there always on Fuerteventura
There is an abundance of greenery
Not at all like those black deserts
I fixed those hooks on the wall
Several summers ago
They were for candles
In glass-sided lanterns
The red bricks have stayed with me
Reclamation from another shelter
That dividing wall in the old stables
Which just had to go
Demolition being more my approach
That is back in the day
Before restoration and reuse was in vogue
Knock it down, start again, that was my mantra
However, since becoming
An honorary member
Of the temperance society
And hanging my bag with the meditators
My shelters are becoming simpler
Or more wholesome
Although occasionally
There will be a rush of blood
An apparent desperate need
For a temple on a mountaintop
Or its symbolic equivalent
Here in the Wolds
A place distracted by a wheelbarrow
By a lump hammer, by a stonemason’s chisel
By a pair of well-worn workmen’s gloves
I see red tulips
I hear birds chirping
The sun is strong this Thursday
And tomorrow is Good Friday
There is a breeze
Wasn’t there always on Fuerteventura
There is an abundance of greenery
Not at all like those black deserts
I fixed those hooks on the wall
Several summers ago
They were for candles
In glass-sided lanterns
The red bricks have stayed with me
Reclamation from another shelter
That dividing wall in the old stables
Which just had to go
Demolition being more my approach
That is back in the day
Before restoration and reuse was in vogue
Knock it down, start again, that was my mantra
However, since becoming
An honorary member
Of the temperance society
And hanging my bag with the meditators
My shelters are becoming simpler
Or more wholesome
Although occasionally
There will be a rush of blood
An apparent desperate need
For a temple on a mountaintop
Or its symbolic equivalent
Here in the Wolds
Saturday 1 February 2020
Sat, in Highgate Cemetery
Sat, in Highgate Cemetery
By the imposing headstone of Karl Marx
A raindrop falls on my forehead
Here, in the ultimate place of shelter
There will be sleet falling
By the time we reach the East Gate
It is April, these are April showers
This shelter, it seems is a pilgrimage for many
But first to tell you of the shelter
Which brought me here
Chris Drury’s small exhibition
In the Avivson Gallery
Across the road
From the shop selling artisan bread
Where I had a scone
With blueberry preserves
Today the proprietor Janus tells me
A little of his story
Also he listens attentively
To a little of mine
He says that the large
Well framed signed print
Of a Chris Drury Echogram
Has sold for £15,000
A not dissimilar image catches my eye
It is entitled Everything / Nothing III
Though to my mind it could easily be named
Everywhere Nowhere / Another Shelter
By the imposing headstone of Karl Marx
A raindrop falls on my forehead
Here, in the ultimate place of shelter
There will be sleet falling
By the time we reach the East Gate
It is April, these are April showers
This shelter, it seems is a pilgrimage for many
But first to tell you of the shelter
Which brought me here
Chris Drury’s small exhibition
In the Avivson Gallery
Across the road
From the shop selling artisan bread
Where I had a scone
With blueberry preserves
Today the proprietor Janus tells me
A little of his story
Also he listens attentively
To a little of mine
He says that the large
Well framed signed print
Of a Chris Drury Echogram
Has sold for £15,000
A not dissimilar image catches my eye
It is entitled Everything / Nothing III
Though to my mind it could easily be named
Everywhere Nowhere / Another Shelter
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