First Poem of the Day

First poem of the day
Clearer than a Capstan full strength
Meaning seemingly

Endless understanding
That first breath of intellectual inoculation
That first untainted web of words

So so carefully interwoven
Woven more than spoken

Softly lowered and laid to rest
Better than the best of stories

Thoughts broken down

With feelings wide opened
Awoken to our own intrinsic imagination
Blown on the mountains

Of menthol inhalation
Consulate reminders of a nicotine past
Thanks, for the first poem of the day

 

Late Junction (For Verity & Friends)

Good Friday
Liaison de l'amor
The water falls
Spanish guitars slide and strum
Whispered words over
Underscored songbirds in unison
Laying behind the violin
Bassoon behind the moon
Drawn in by the drone
Moments too soon, too soon
Sorrowful strings seep out and over
Timbre of stroking, tapping, canvas
Wandering back out of the forest
Falling into the fearful darkness
Bellows blazing and blowing
The screaming shrieking crow
Into Istanbul
Saxophone’s summer mystery
Chords, carousels, bass trombone
Rhythm section in full blow
Constructing crescendoes
Winding down, in and out
Ethiopia's singing superstar
Behind Bertolt Brecht
Score, scrape, roughen up the surface
Introduce a smooth-blue lead guitar
Crack around the dripping potholes
Stalactite to stalagmite
Steadily increase the heartbeat
Feeling for a following frequency
Drop on top that single bleep
Repeated with mounting irregularity
Going nowhere
Circling for a moment
Redirection fades in from faraway
Scattering out the waves and tones
Driving on at midnight
Fingers tapping on the wheel
Windscreen wipers splash the spray
Locomotion slowly drains away

 

Across the Village Green

Across the village green
Beneath the cloud-capped hills
He waved his hand
So full of love and tenderness
He smiled his smile
Years of calm and contentedness
She returned his smile
And thought of wasted opportunities
Between the wars
She could have staked a claim
The life they lived
The stuff of dreams
Across the village green
Beneath the cloud-capped hills
He swept back his hair
From his sun-blessed brow
He held his head
Aloft, proud, not loud
She would have swept her fingers
Through his golden locks
She would have squeezed his hand
Beneath the old church clock
The life they lived
Or so it seems
Across the path of time
It was the stuff of dreams
He walked down along the roses
Between the green and the public house
He licked his lips
Frothy beer, dominoes

A real conversational hub
She would have missed his company
Left at home, alone
She would have tried not to nag
Or wasted Sunday dinners
He rolled out under the moonlight
Unsteady on his feet
He blessed his life
And forgot he had a sweetheart
She thanked her lucky stars
She had not been subservient
She would have loved him dear
To her it was so clear
The life they lived
Grew further apart
The stuff of dreams
In the head, also in the heart
They walked, they talked
Wondering why
Beginning to cry
Their life to revive once again

 

New Poem For Your Return

New poem for your return
Flowers swimming on the breeze
Sunbeams mingle

Jingle in flight across the sky
New poem
Plagued by deconstructive desire
Undone by absence of spirit

Body and soul no longer so strong
New poem
Floating, beaming, weeping willow
Orange blossom full in bloom
Big bright, bright blue sky

Everything of you
New poem
Scattered, shattered thoughts

Slipping like cancer
Time without time, without meaning

Without understanding
Broken bonds
New poem
Crystal swings in glory, casting

Rainbow colours in droves
Nature’s curtains hang at ease in waiting
Whilst ladies languor

With their stolen cigarettes

New poem, more love

 

Driftwood

One white house
Your memories unfold
Fisherman’s tales
Told and retold
A lonesome room
On a windswept shore
Children listen
Parents plead for more, for more
Your crevices and cracks
Your driftwood smoking stack
Rhythms and rhymes, into the night
Eyes burning as splinters smack
Living alone
Inside your solitary stone
Now painted white
A virgins flight, souls to fright
Was your life
So simple we surmise
Grilling fish
Sunset, sunrise, no surprise
A simple cloth
Not Cardin or Davidoff
Did you smile
Along the whole five mile
Walking the shoreline
Before the armies came
Was it ever the same
Was it, ever the same
Your stories unfold
Your history is told and sold
You lie there stark and cold
Within your mind’s finer robes of gold