a soul in torment

  a soul in torment 

nothing as monotonous 

as a dog deep in the night

of gunny sack wishes 

drowning in the drooping eyelids 

of blinking expletives 

all night long 

long   long   long

promenade

 promenade

splash pool splash

it is raining our laughter 

until we wet ourselves

shhh  no   listen

it is our little secret 

splash me again and again

until my colours run

into yours

hay

 hay

never fails to elicit hey!

when summer is over

hey there! stop!

never elicits the return 

of the stolen days

golden in the treasury of mists

hey! those are my days!

forever the harvest

of the hay days of halcyon 

gone with the kingfisher

fast down stream between

the fields of fire

place your but yets and what ifs

 place your but yets and what ifs

the roulette wheel is spinning

the chips are down

every form of nationalism

is holding its breath

winners or losers

the bank of history rakes in the stakes

when they closed the old casino

this new one opened

the stakes are the same

same old ‘everyone a winner’

world war smokes a cigar 

and pours itself another drink

cliché touché

 cliché touché

the trees

are a dancing cliché in the breeze

but far from being a cliché if you please

for i am looking at it now you see

come look through the open gate with me

for it’s been hot and it is late but hey touché

i do so love a cool cliché

press for receipt

 press for receipt 

the poem

in the fresh fridge

had no best by date 

its fate sinking

in the blinking of the barcode reader 

double points for being rhyme-less

buy one get ten thousand thoughts

didn’t work

it’s in the charity basket now

near the door

the poet with the security tag

slipped out unnoticed

no receipt

caswell bay

 caswell bay

three bays for the price of two

when the tide’s in there’s

the pebble bay by the lifeguard cabin

below the steps to brandy cove

beneath the big house

where vernon watkins once lived

the big beach by the cafe

the one where the stream runs out 

from under the children’s rock

when the tide’s out

the long sand to the east

it’s yours

beneath the coast path 

and the rocky outcrops

take all three and

on a leg-stretching walk

look back from the tideline

and you will see the trees

that bound the valley

hiding the roundhouse

and shrouding st peter’s chapel

a dereliction of duty

not to visit the druids well

oh i say what a breezy bay

with the coloured wind breakers

shimmering in shivers 

on a rash of seaweed

take all three

gift wrapped this summer

a dream for longing 

in a long winter

three dreams for the perchance of one