For Daf

For Daf

 

the clematis climbs in a hug

around the bushes and shrubs

and rises in a triumph around a conifer

like applause

A curtain call for this morning

while twin jet engines grind the air

on an ascending scale away from Heathrow

with a vow toward wherever it is they are promised

but down here, in our garden, I feel no resentment

not for the noise nor for those high flying dreams

because I am bound in this sumptuous scene

happy in May sunshine with cool air

on my naked skin,  newly cut grass glistening in the dew

and nothing much else to do

except perhaps to plant a kiss

on the cheek of a favoured friend

who has picked today, of all days

to celebrate

A cup of tea

A cup of tea

A cup of tea

I salute the deep swells

Of an ocean that rolls

It’s hunger audible. Sucking. Heaving.

The breath, then the rasp of shingle

Dragged across the palate

That moment of calm, when

I imagine the stomach is full

Satiated

Before another lunge below the moon

Announces gravity will not wait

And sailors bob on waves

Duty bound, flung in a dance

A flamenco of spray and romance

And me,

So far in land that this

May or may not be happening

But it matters not

Because it satisfies my minds eye.

Gifts

Gifts

Gifts

 

I live in beauty

I must

For squalid does for me

Closes me down and draws,

the curtains

on the envelope that is outside

 

I look for an essence of the infinite

In a caught moment

Then trap it in words

And celebrate

Because it all will pass by

In a lazy caravan of sighs

 

And so I sit

A recipient of bliss

Quiet with my gift

Not at all guilty

For I would share this

With anyone.

A wobble on the way to Christmas

A wobble on the way to ChristmasSherbet dabs and penny chews

Cold custard and cheese-cake

A teacher kind enough to give me praise

And days when I was free. A king

Score a goal. Win a race

Feel that I had earned my place

Those are captions from good days

Tokens from the sweetness of memory

 

How easy to forget the good

And believe in a parody of the past

Where shadows and puppets

Played the major parts

Reality sits uneasily

Next to the hard evidence

That vanity has made a pass and lost

 

Left with rancour

Instead of gloss

Self-pity grimaces at the mirror

Leaves hands cuddling loss

Emptiness, a stain on the place

Where the atoms sat

The ghost that drags it’s heavy load

Is on the trail of Heaven’s scent