Thursday 30 July 2020

‪the calm tides of summer filling the bays of your mind‬

‪hills of smiles without a cloud in the sky‬

‪supper upon the lowing of the sun‬

‪dreaming dreaming‬

‪of midnights‬

‪summer‬

‪sunny‬

‪boy‬

childhood 

digging up the hamster

to see the bones 

Wednesday 29 July 2020

1958


1958

there i’ve said it
it’s a date 

and when these poems say a date
i try to imagine
all there is to recall 
and all the time i am never sure

but a date is a date set 
and that one and only date sets the mould 
of this or that poem

the poet set it atop of the poem
so it’s important to say the date
the date the date the date
the one and only

there i’ve said it
let’s move on to it
the poem
and forget the date for now

the words will set the date 
and i’ll remember the day i read
it - the date of the poem 

there i’ve said it

12th November 1958

and roy fisher wrote it
package holiday
charon crossing acheron 
book now

the chiseller

the chiseller 

we thought we could science away
the epidemics of don’t mind me
i’m just a little morose today  for
life is ours and we are here to stay 
and all this nature thing a me bob
it bloody well gets in the way
and bugger me - oh i say 
this eulogy
won’t fit on my tombstone
and the chiseller is dead

we’ve missed the bus

we’ve missed the bus

the bus stop’s memoir‬
‪was entitled ‘time’s tableau’ ‬
it remembers those days when ‬
‪two arrived together‬
‪but ‬
is referring now to passengers‬
‪on their way to death’s masked ball‬
‪even the graffiti is faded - for‬
‪what can it say about corvid?‬
‪bugger all and all‬
‪is smeared in tears‬

Tuesday 28 July 2020

much later
the setting sun is wrapped 
and taken home

Saturday 25 July 2020

tears

tears

the tragedy of mankind‬
‪captured in your brief lines‬
‪the sparcity of the enormity‬
‪that is eternity‬
the questions‬
‪eternally unanswered‬
‪eternally sought‬
‪the runes of dried tears‬
‪of sadness never read‬
‪by the tears of happiness ‬
‪until they change‬
‪too late in the day‬

(For John Guzlowski)

Friday 24 July 2020

the writings shed

the writings shed 

and now i imagine‬
‪not the summer writing shed‬
‪all things placed‬
‪but the door window closed shed‬
‪full of smoke and fetid words‬
‪fighting for survival‬
‪squeezed by the rain‬
‪running some drying‬
‪to be read the world over‬
‪always in the sunshine‬
‪never in the rain

Thursday 23 July 2020

laid low

underneath of the either sides
is where imagination rides
who laid it thus from A to B
it wasn’t you it wasn’t me
walk on by on the other side
but which side? you decide
go on - you decide

why four

‪this was what four was for‬
‪but i rushed away for five‬
‪i thought i would be more alive‬
‪and now they have locked the door‬

Tuesday 21 July 2020

squirrelled


squirrelled

mid morning
already it is hot
the geraniums share a joke
daisies open up
the lavender dozes
plums are ripening
apples are dropping
and the pears 
well the pears are the pears
or so the runner beans tell
the nasturtiums 
and the dancing butterflies
and the gossip of gnats
over weeping potato haulms
yes 
it is high summer my friend
my garden hat slipping
over my closing eyes 
aye son aye
high summers just are
are they not
even when
the cat has shit on the grass
attracting the blue bottles and 
the green bottles but but
such beauty 
cannot spoil this day
it is squirrelled away 
for winter



Monday 20 July 2020

that old photograph

that old photograph 

it’s gone‬
‪  i still have it‬
‪but it’s gone‬
‪  but i still have it‬
‪look ‬
‪  you have it‬
‪you had it‬
‪  see‬
‪look‬
‪it’s gone‬

Sunday 19 July 2020

sunday

sunday 

locked in dogs
barking at the moon
feral builders
nailing the afternoon 
visitors pollinating 
the promenade seats
dead men’s elegies 
where the widows meet
afternoon chatter
needling the groove
stuck and stuttering 
it’s time to move
on to where
the cabbage whites are dancing
over nasturtium flowers 
poppies growing taller 
in the midday hours
the cat stretching long
on the wooden decking
i dream of the old days
in the sand dunes necking
and when dusk
the shunter 
ushers me inside
i think of billy bunter 
ahh
this is where i abide

Friday 17 July 2020

i’m building a haiku hermitage

i’m building a haiku hermitage 
a haiku hermitage for one
when all the bad news rages
i’ll sit there in the sun

and when the war is over
whether lost or won
i’ll write another poem
to set beside this one

and then I’ll look across the valley
to the sunset in the west
and chant myself to sleep
home   home   home
is best

Thursday 16 July 2020

why not

why  not

self-replicating
on this ball of iron
closer to death
than the sequalae 
of global warming
yet still worrying
asking why
why ask of it
when comes oblivion
asking yourself
why
asking
and receiving no reply
other than the echo
why

Wednesday 8 July 2020

and ran - i did

and ran - i did

first i collected the tadpoles
from the well across the fields
then i tickled sticklebacks
from the little pluck dicing stones
roach came next enticed with dough
under a float upon the pluck
then running the flashing brook trout
with worms where the water weeds flow
meandering slow past llansamlet church
where grandpa is buried low

then of course the coarse fish pike and perch
in the tennant canal reeded blind
by the docks where the sea fish flow
hooking pouting and whiting and flatties
on the west pier where the night rats know
that the moon stones will be awash at full tide
when the dock lights shiver - you know
and a fist of rag worm wrapped in sand and cloth 
holds every boy‘s long hope upon the bay

aye

i’ve caught them all in my time
when as a child i caught time itself
running with the hares and kestrels
flying across the shivery-shakes 
and heather’s dusty flowers
     and lizards 
          and frogs 
               and toads
and bank voles in the mounds of grass
and water voles with streaming their Vs
down from heol las

never ever did i think 
that this 
one day 
would be just a dream 

for

i seem to have run out of bait my son
although i am running closer to my soil
where the sun is warm under grasses tall
and the breeze - well it’s just that breeze
that dried blood on bloody knees 
sleeping under the long sky
as deep as a big fishes lair


over the weir time has rock dashed
and the sun is setting in red sails fair
across an ocean with no destination
i am sailing there - with there there now
for yes   oh yes
i am sailing there and there

Monday 6 July 2020

bloody help

bloody help

our blood
is not our blood
or our ancestor’s
blood
or our scion’s
blood
or
for that matter
blood at all
it is of the soil
of the toil
of time’s
bloody time

Friday 3 July 2020

The Chelsea hotel

The Chelsea hotel

the length of time’s tear‬
in the bite of a double shot‬
‪downed now‬
‪in staggering words‬
‪down sleep’s slurred lines‬
‪laid to rest‬
‪bible bright ‬
‪in that singular goodnight‬

Wednesday 1 July 2020

have you ever wanted to be

have you ever wanted to be

have you ever wanted to be that man
the one with the stick
you know - the one with the metal pole
who listens to your stopcock 
out in the road
with his ear to the shiny wooden cup
at the end of his decision

or the man with his hands on the handles
of the surging tube that goes up and down 
up and splurging down in the storm drain
that keeps the kids enthralled

or the man with the shiny wooden pole
with the pig’s tail hook that darns
the the coupling links between the trucks
with such deft luck that barely at moment 
between the buffers shine bouncing the 
chains tight in a juddering offwego 

or the man in the moon
who is so superfluously superior
that he doesn’t even exist
i’d like to be a bit on the dark side
of an espresso light

ah well 
here they come with the medication trolley
better sign off now 
or they’ll think i’m off my trolley
again

strange morning

strange morning

outside
mum pecks the bum of a baby dunnock
dunno why 
but the cat goes bonkers
and they fly