Sorry

Poem. Sorry

wove down Bunkers Lane

re-living an old familiar route

across country, short cut

where once I encountered black ice

and slid into a hedgerow

another time on a bend

a pigeon flapping, one wing stripped to the bone

I stopped

we were both helpless until

I put it out of misery

Other times I might have been happy

Bunker Lane doesn’t care

on down into Apsley, the Mill area

where I once lived

All changing now. The pub on the corner gone

Ebberns Road beside the canal

my first wife and I lived at 69

I had my first and only acid trip there

Now Ebberns Road doesn’t care

And in me. In my soul

I want to say how sorry I am

for being so much less than

the man I should have been

To the pigeon, to the ice, to my first wife

I do so want to honour you.

Hidden Truths

Hidden Truths

 

Hidden Truths

Talk to me please

For I am troubled

By dreams that refuse

To sleep in quietness

Appearing only to confuse

And leave simpers in the margins

Of wakeful thoughts

To register on the scale

Of my conscience

Half drawn

The ineluctable stain

Of stretched flesh

As scraps and fragments

On a canvas

That reeks of errors

Remorse and half-told truths

Extruded from a private place

 Seeps into the world of eyes

Last night’s dream

Last Night's Dream

Last Night’s Dream

Last night’s dream

 

Tight

Then running

Into water

A fast flowing weir

Danger

Fully clothed

A man passes me in evening wear

And enters swirling waves

I see him from the bank

Lit, as if on stage

And he swims

Until I know

The water will get him

And I watch

As he goes under

So confused

And then he is propelled

Torpedo-like into vacant air

Again and again

His corpse

A plaything

Of some hidden deep