what follows a thought flowing

 what follows a thought flowing

is there anything as slow

as a fast flowing stream

anything more like a dream 

of the banks of now and again

or the passing of time

like time passing 

in a dream of a stream 

that like this is flowing

ex-static

 ex-static 

a poem that takes me

to a place i have never been

a bridge over a generation 

that never meets in the middle

understanding the words

of the story unfolding

but ecstasy a word only

never a sensation 

for in my day it was drowned

a night out was a back door

into darkness 

ecstasy what’s that

not me

gladly

 gladly 

there are many things

almost too many things

that stir the heart

that raise the spirits

like sunshine upon the wind

a thought that it will return

but might not

but here it is in front of me

gladly come gladly

my son

shut that door

 shut that door

drafts are daft

daft are drafts

are drafts daft

daft drafts are daft

drafts of drafts are drafts

a draft of a draft is a draft

this is a daft draft

that needs redrafting

are you daft

must be a draft 

because i am not daft

am i a draft 

is frightening

but obviously a draft

eh?

bah you are daft 

a coppiced thought

 a coppiced thought

pruning my words

down to the coppice

of a tree’s branching 

into thoughts of spring

the old secateur’s creaking

there’s another one

and here’s another one

wattle be enough

to thatch this thought

that the seeds need trees

to branch and grow and flower

as sunhouses need roofs

where such thoughts as these can doze 

and doze and doze 

valentine’s day

 valentine’s day

(a welshman unsigned)

look i’m tellin ewe un eye

she dun know eye exists

so like i’m not

i’m not sending her none

his … majesty

 his … majesty

just shopped for it online

they only do secondhand 

hand-me-down thingys

bit stained and threadbare 

Dot

 Dot

in her dotage 

in the dementia ward

had forgotten a lot

about Dot and

it is awful sad

Dot

in her dotage 

in the dementia ward

is looking for 

Dot            and

it is awful sad

when

 when 

when approaching the Chesapeake

the scene is cut by a snake

hurrying

with you explaining how 

frogs voices can be recreated 

in pigeon english 

shit

the scene contracts

DC is a form of current 

tingling across the unseen

unable

we retrace our steps 

the epstein men’s mien

 the epstein men’s mien 

time catches up with them

these sad old men

found guilty ~ guilty! guilty!

their perceived impunity 

stopped at the door

of balanced thought 

the password ‘sorry’

not recognised

away to the stocks with them

pelt them with the pus

from their lanced boils

let the night of retribution

come down upon them

slowly close their door

the brain worm

 the brain worm

the invisible robot

corrupting thought

so that they forgot

the restraint do not

so they did 

with a vengeance 

that seemed a timeless

inheritance 

it was not news to them

but history made large

obvious

a no brainer

was the last thought they had

too late the epitaph 

their fingers wrote in the dust

junior school in the 1950s

 junior school in the 1950s

   let me show you mine

four years

   three streams 

      A   B   C

I was always in stream A

top class 

  six rows

I was always in the first row

 six double desks

I was usually on desk three or four

 never desk one

although I was once as I recall

sitting with Alan Rees

he was always on desk one

god he was boring 

I preferred desk two

sitting with Wendy Redacted

I once showed her mine and she showed me hers

she lived in the second stone semi

up Redacted road

where the approved school was 

in infants school I played with

Gloria Puttyfoot and Linda Clutterbuck

Gloria used to spin me at arm’s length

and helped me jump up onto the coal bunker

    never saw them in junior school

even their glorious names didn’t help

they were Cs you see

small tributaries 

small wonder  small wonder

all water under the bridge to nowhere

the news rote large

 the news rote large

the invisible robot

corrupting thought

so that they forgot

the restraint not too

so they did 

with a vengeance 

that seemed a timeless

inheritance 

it was not news to them

but history made large

obvious

a no brainer

was the last thought they had

too late the epitaph 

their fingers wrote 

in the bloody dusk

hey aye the asses oh