for king hell

 for king

                         hell

for king

                         and cuntry 

face the wall

and wait

                 rose

by appointment 

the horses are at the starting gate

a poet see

 a poet see

you see that sheet of paper

sorry ~ this sheet i mean

well i wrote on it and called what i wrote a poem

so now i am a poet 

the poets do not agree

so i called them non-poets

and i put them in my poem where they wriggle

and wriggle to be free

see

nestling in a lake

 nestling in a lake 

‪at the bottom of the lake‬

‪the sky has laid an egg‬

‪clouds of feathers blown away‬

‪it lies in the rolling of eyes‬

‪skyward and tree lined‬

‪green in the shadows the fish ‬

‪write the story ‬

‪of how autumn cooled ‬

‪of how the sky sat long‬

‪spring after winter‬

‪come‬

‪let’s walk‬

rain?

 rain?

you only know rain when it soaks your nether regions

when it runs down your legs and fills your shoes

soddens your socks with squelchy steps

runs down your neck and places its cold hand

upon your hunched shoulders or spits in your eye

needles your skin with distain

brings a reluctant smile

there’s more to come

satnav

          satnav 

continue on this road 

       ~ forever ~

at the next roundabout 

   don’t take any exits

this alpha-numeric road 

  bears no resemblance

      to the alternative 

 the satellite in orbit

 above the ring road

      rings in sick

      you have not

      you never will

arrive at your destination 

 

after a swim on the 2nd of september

 after a swim on the 2nd of september 

it was a day like no other

and here i am now washed up on the sofa

both doors are open and that same day

is flowing through on a tide of autumn sunlight

the cat is sort of awake with me

a broom somewhere is sweeping 

lavender scent nodding upon the breeze

undecided lobelia half blue half grey

geraniums as hot as coffee

soon i say

soon

and maybe a scone with jam and cream

tenby

 tenby 

in the enfolding of colour

the sky becomes the people

that flow to the sea 

becalms the day as

the people stay those cornered ways

saying it’s around this way or is it that

the bandstand stands on the cannon’s

view as caldey draws down a gull’s drifting

resting on a balustrade of every afternoon

that the night’s harbour wall will tether

beneath the clock’s softly moon