Monday
We had a right weekend
We sunk some stuff
Ian Kinloch MacGregor passed away
He never did get any better
This dust it gets everywhere
Mixes in with the sweat
You would have died to be a miner
Defined me, it gave me my self as my surety
My society, my community
Words which she never understood
Words which she never could
Lather, soap bars and shared showers
A white shirt, a stroke of Brylcreem
A few pints; football, darts
A good old game of dominoes
 |
| Available on Amazon |
Picture frames rearranged needlessly
Need they be
Stains and strains came and went it seems to me
Beleagueredly
All I gave him was a chance for conversation
To talk about his past
To talk about his life as a boy
As a boy becoming a young man
All I gave him was refuge, respite
From a day on the drink
From a day in the baking sunlight
An old man undone, without aim, hopeless
Corner stones, signposts, a simple conversation
Except that once, sat by Oliver Reed
Who were the other two, his partners in crime
Lee Marvin…Charles Bronson…I can't remember
I loved it down the pit
Never let you struggle, always an helping hand
Could have made it as a football professional
Always the captain; school, boys club, the county
Where he died, all the drinks of that day
Of the heart attack; commemorated
Every time it was my turn to buy
He put his hand in his pocket, on his tab today
We're going now, me and the lad
I'll shake your hand; it's been nice talking to you
Your girl, she enjoys herself
Believe me, you ought to
|
| Available on Amazon |
The washing basket is empty
Upturned and acting as if a garden table
Mothers over the fence
With their pre-school children
Yard life, in what once was Middle-England
Show them love, show them care
Give them, without condition
These the most prized of possessions:
Conversation, explanation, temptation
A cuddle to follow a cry
Dispassionate words, from far too far a distance
The washing line hangs without life
No breeze to rock the duvet, or its cover
Poppies all flowered, out for the season
Memories west wind blown
To some other part of another England
Show them arrogance, show them fear
Give them, without explanation
These most prized obsessions:
Silence, doubt, nothingness
A final emphatic put down, just before they die
Compassionate words; far away from home, alone
|
| Available on Amazon |
Move on
Another drink
Another slice of oblivion
Brave enough
To use unkind words
Need to
Hold you
Walk me home alone
Move on
Another relationship
Another false dawn
Craved enough
To grasp at anything
Need to
Told you
I turn to stone
Move on
Paris, Rome
Any other place my own
Waved enough
To smile for some
Need to
Unfold you
I am undone
|
| Available on Amazon |
This is the first time, even only yesterday
You told me of the seed pods
To remind me of the flowers which had been there
Of the compulsion
From a sense of not quite
Ever coming to the mark
Or of never having
Been in love
This is the sunshine, later on the heatwave
No shadow on this side of the endless edge
Anyhow the shade there, it simply does not suit you
Neither the joy
At the turn of the night
Another wasteful Monday
Of never wanting
To waste another moment
This is the favour to wave away
Least somehow, still searching the fear
Of happiness, or something else to be taken away
And what do I offer
Endless words
Unknowing communication
Of even never before
Having known your love
|
| Available on Amazon |