wreck on
someone
kids i reckon
have removed all my pebble poems
from the promenade seats
thrown them into the sea
i reckon
it was a full tide yesterday evening
and this moved them
and my poems moved them
i reckon
never mind they will emerge at low water
and someone will find them
saying oh look a poem
i reckon
what do you reckon
shadow lands a question
i ask my shadow
what is in the gap between us
what connects us
is it something in the light beam
or is it there in the dark but we cannot see it
i spread my hands in supplication
so does my shadow
you tell me says ditto’s shadow
tap dancing
with my shadow
in the footlights
we smoked pipes made from the stems of Japanese knotweed cut just below a joint (no pun!) and used a hollow side stem as the mouth piece ~ in went a dried weed of unknown abstraction ~ horrible but also horribly grown up ish ~ whenever i smell it a time machine malfunctions
there was a WWII gun bunker that had a subterranean alcove with a corrugated roof ~ cleft torn through to the turf ~ so we lit a fire inside and timed our fortitude in there by streaming eyes and brochospasm
kids well i ask you
what didn’t end up killing us
made us more daring
it’s nice to talk
this morning
sun upon a blank slate
across BlueSky a hand reached
and warm chalk wrote
her reply
and handed back the chalk
it’s nice to talk
once my dad
made me a vial of smoke
by blowing his cigarette breath
through a straw under water
and into a vial which
when opened
disappeared in a puff
and enough to say
that once
i caught the word
sad
the relativity of two unrelated stares
age looks deep
into the past times
youth looks high
into the future times
both are unfocused
waiting for the clarity
of the right time
which neither realise
is now
hey high
a sign of the times
hanging on one bracket
squeaks ill of the dread
so
i write my own poems
i read my own poems
i share my poems
meet me face to face
down in the woods today
and we’ll have a picnic
sandwiches of laughter
on a gingham cloth
we’ll pour each other’s poems
and drink deep
there on the stream’s bank
we’ll write with a stick
we wos here
at the going down of the sun we’ll bundle it all up
and walk by the light of our brilliance
that the moon will swoon over
