porthcawl
ahh porthcawl
undecided whether it is estuary or sea
grandly grandiloquent or discontent
showy or fairground
ornate dragon-armed seats or candyfloss
figure eight or figurine
an esplanade of gentle folk
or the cannonade of kiss me quick lads
both of course
spin around and sea
rest bay and coney island
both
under a rain squall
once upon a time in a photographer’s eye
there are these items that might
if the light is just just right
live once more their dream
to be held in a sunbeam
so they wait and rust and must
and trust the wait must must
so they stay innocuous
walked past each day by us
but then one day in a million
they become one in a million
and there they are
framed on the gallery wall
held in a spotlight
we call the wind felicity
stroking my cat in the space beyond reach
i look up intensity in the thesaurus
for in the lavender a breeze is stirring
causing a wren to pierce the morning
at the sadness of a falling leaf
we call the wind felicity
it’s agreed
the seance ends
a broken butterfly wing knocks once
then silence
just desserts
the sunday dogs are barking
and it’s starting to rain
the windfalls all are gathered in
never no more this summer again
and now i’ve caught a cold and cough
i’m barking like that dog
it really really really is a pain
and enough is enough you sod
so stew me some of them apples
september’s just desserts
use the best dish with some double cream
if it’s not too much trouble my lovely
autumn love
the sparrow hawked the poem
and a few feathers settle
slowly
each one a dead loss
torn from the poem by the talons
of an idea flown
snow flaked on the lawn
a muse sketches them
into a masterpiece that has no title
for it has flown
be old the old
the old bloom with knowledge
glow with how things were when
they gathered lilacs in the spring
for mums in pinafores bathed
in sunny days
that would never end
not even now when they are
they blossom with the used-to-bees
On Rotherslade Road
i literally saw two writers
climbing a literary hill
both were deep in conversation
which never bodes ill
hi ann said i
hello to you tracy too
your tweets have been so enriching
thank you they said ~ thank you
two
a dark painting with some light bits
all the woken eyes
wander alone in a crowd
some dark some light
each searching for the other
in the recesses of the mind
the artist turns paint into handrails on
the dangerous path to the leaping point
have faith it is there somewhere
keep looking for my hand
jump!
