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It’s not so much

How you feel

In the middle of the night

It’s not so much

How you see

As you search for second sight

All that’s left

Is all that’s left

All that’s gone before

Has gone before

It’s not so much

How you smile

When everything is alright

It’s not so much

How you squeeze

When the pheromones alight

All that’s here

Is all that’s here

All that’s new

Is all that’s new

It’s not so much

How you close

If the time is tight

It’s not so much

How you arose

When the sign said flight

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Mimicry

From the Tuscany hills

To the city of Florence

From the paying of bills

To the trials of intolerance

From the pool of azure

To the church of marble

From religion so sure

To the saints who garble

From the room without heat

To the bed with mosquitoes

From the clean white sheet

To the red blood of the veto’s

From glass beads on lampshades

To a bookcase filled with volumes

From Paul&Shark first grades

To magic bells with their tunes

From a following of Rembrandt

To a date with Captain Corelli

From a reading by Kant

To the slippers of George Melly

From horse hooves on cobbles

To a courtiers clean stables

From floors with their wobbles

To the starlights of the fables

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Outlook

By the blue pool

With azure reflections

On the Tuscany

The Tuscany hillside

Five kilometres

From the road

On the dirt track

Past the stables

Olive trees

Of all ages

By the chateau

Down the valley

Man and wife now

Married just then

By the chateau

Down the valley

Silver clouds

With silver linings

Sky of blue

Washes the grey away

Swifts and swallows

Diving and darting

Offering pleasure

To those who stay

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Country Rose

I bless this meditation

I say thanks for this meditation

In the morning sunlight

Before the dark cloud

Settles over me

There are ducks, there are geese

Birdsong, and bees

The meadow is fragrant

Awash with poppies and mint

The grass is free of mowing

The windmills are not for turning

As I close off the meditation

Instead it is the sun

Which returns the world’s energy

To my pleasurable locale

Swallows dart and dive

They climb, and they plunge

As I too purge, and cover over

Our synchronicity though

Is not there for all to see

The poems say what the poems say

I have no means

To express deeper or higher thoughts

Although my two-tone personality

Is, for the moment, perfectly relaxed

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Act One: Scene One

One is a memory, one is a betrayal.

I am on the hilltop, by a pool beside the olive trees

There is a lady talking with a prospective client

She is excelling at selling:

The chateau is three thousand euros for the day

And five hundred euros for the pool

The chapel is a thousand euros

Or fifteen hundred if decorated

Everything it seems is ‘extra’

I expect that soon

The gentleman will cease

Asking his leading questions

You want food?

Yes, that will be extra

Good food, or very good food

That also is extra

He says that he, and his wife to be

Want to give a good impression

He doesn’t ask, but I fear

That the ‘good impression’ may also be an extra

Ha, the guest rooms

Yes, they are also an additional cost

And the staff?

Well, of course, they are charged by the hour!

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