I have taken shelter in the plainsong

I have taken shelter in the plainsong
Happy with the cause and effect
Of suggestion followed by response
As if that isn’t just what I do
By allowing myself to become vulnerable
In a place where I have no provenance

I look at the sacred image
Of Jesus himself
Above the devil below
As if in my first visit to the opera
With Mephistopheles
Beneath the stage in central London

That neither of those items
Became any kind of shelter
Says a good deal
About the simplicity
And absolute naivety
Of my upbringing

Of course, by myself
I tried to change that
I went on many explorations
I moved shelters many times
Once or twice I thought I had found
The one space which truly mattered

Yet
Just as my casting off
The imagery and the hierarchy
Of organised religion
Sort of did it for me
The solution itself still wandered

It took me to the song
And the ritual
It took me to the incense
And the occasion
It took me beyond myself
To that way distant shelter

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It is the second time

It is the second time
That I sit in this location
Today I take a photograph
To remind me, of the cup of tea
The biscuit and the writing tools
And the view
Out over the pools
Out over the sea
Out to the faraway horizon

It isn’t quite a shelter
But it could be
With a table to all four corners
The chairs I suppose
Could be called Colonial
Certainly the round table
With three spread-out feet
Is from that period
If I am not mistaken

Yew and Mahogany
Are not so popular now
Even when inlaid with ebony
Nevertheless, for a temporary writer’s shelter
They more than outperform
Much of what we call
Modernism
Which, will itself mean little
In one hundred years or more

Outside, on the open-air platform
The chairs and sofas
Are of rattan
With cotton covered cushions
We sat on them
In the moonlight
When the shelter
Became a place
To sip Grand Marnier, or Dubonnet

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What will this future look like

What will this future look like
Will it be a shelter
In the style of
The Paper House
If so
Yes, if so
Should I read that book again
Before I begin my constructions

The Paper House is on order
As also is Springtime in a broken mirror
For they are both translated
By Nick Caistor
Which makes some sense
As my idea for a shelter
Is also a shelter in translation
A sort of cobbled together composite affair

What does this collaboration mean
Is it as
That between you
And your diving instructor
Is it that total trust
In someone other
As if as in yourself
To go somewhat deeper

This sea is one vast space
Even without knowing its depth
That we even dare to think
Of a shelter of such enormity
Says much about our belief
Of all of those rails
That we are yet to travel
Or mention in despatches

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I have it in mind

I have it in mind
That during September or October
I would merge
The present shelters for my poetry

So that all would become one
One shelter for all of my work
With all sensitivities
In the one place which is I

That is to say
A shelter without compartments
Without ledges or shelves or badges
To help ordering or cataloguing

A shelter
Perhaps with more explanations
Perhaps with photographs or tokens
If appropriate, or if of importance

There would be space also
For meditation
As if an holy shrine
To visit with some reverence

It is easier to think on this
Having just visited
The chapel and the beach
To write a few poems

Now, from this vantage point
High above the villas
And the swimming pools
It is easy to cast out the idea

For a poetry shelter
A veritable hybrid of a vessel
For my donkey’s years worth
Of indiscriminate, or indistinguishable poems

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Our new shelter has a maid

Our new shelter has a maid
Who makes the bed twice daily
And clears the floors and bathroom
She is dutiful and thorough
Most pleasant in her way
And says goodbye as she leaves

Did the waves of the Aegean
Deliver her to this place
Or are her parents
Also from this island
Of friendly folk
Who show the basis of all humanity

That this might have been
A foundation for shelters
That the sea and mountain
Should forge
A settlement of souls
Who appreciate life’s goodness

Such that now
They transfer this well-being
To all nations of the world
To join them for moussaka
Also with dancing
To Zorba the Greek

The horizon is
Where the horizon is
Yet my horizons
Of complicated stealth
Are being opened up
By new forms of shelters

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