No billboard just coffee table,
mostly words, laid bare,
open or not for interpretation,
initially free of stain, coffee or other.
posters
May 4, 2013
April 22, 2013
One hundred and twenty two
One family,
one car;
one family car,
one forty-tonne truck.
One quarter,
of one percent;
of the annual price,
of one freedom.
One careless word,
one silly post;
one early morning knock,
one costly mistake.
One threat: eliminated;
one risk: unmitigated.
You remind me,
you protect me;
from threats,
I do not see.
One hundred and twenty two,
remind you;
of just one,
I do.
April 6, 2013
no grave but the sea
ear shanty, ritual capstan strain
flag-crack sail hoist rope run
settle fair wind thirst atlantic swell
journey, unknown horizon, hope, doubt, trepidation
lead swinging three sheets
colours nailed yardarm awash
line crossed adrift
sun-scorched deck bleach doldrums
pump weathering tack
Eternal Father foaming deep rock tempest
No roses on a sailor’s grave
On a sailor’s grave there are no roses
On a seaman’s grave there bloom no Edelweiss
The only ornaments are the white gulls
And the many tears a girl is weeping
translation from a German sea shanty
…the sea gods will take their toll – Joseph Conrad
smooth writing
smooth writing, smooth music
experiments in relaxation
spring arrives
ground soaks up heat
coldest of hearts, melted
hands out palms up, eyes closed
March 27, 2013
Milk milk glorious milk
Five milk bottles in the fridge door,
Five milk bottles in the fridge door,
And if one milk bottle was consumed with cereal for breakfast
There’d be four milk bottles in the fridge door.
Four milk bottles in the fridge door,
Four milk bottles in the fridge door,
And if one milk bottle was drunk at lunchtime with some cheese sandwiches
There’d be three milk bottles in the fridge door.
Three milk bottles in the fridge door,
Three milk bottles in the fridge door,
And if one milk bottle was used to make milkshakes for the kids (banana)
There’d be two milk bottles in the fridge door.
Two milk bottles in the fridge door,
Two milk bottles in the fridge door,
And if one milk bottle was used for culinary purposes (misc, unspecified)
There’d be one milk bottle in the fridge door.
One milk bottle in the fridge door,
One milk bottle in the fridge door,
And if one milk bottle was used by anyone for any purposes other than to add to my cup of tea then someone had better look out cos
There’d be no milk bottles in the fridge door.
The end – you can pick your own tune if you like but I have set it to the obvious one.
March 15, 2013
The ten fifty four from Newark Northgate to London Kings Cross
Karen Duffy,
Head of Performance,
walked the aisle
with a pleasant smile
and then she was gone
to the next carriage
to serve another.
February 27, 2013
“let spring commence”
The trim hedge,
once out of control, is now tamed,
its gangly tendrils mastered
and canopy forestalled.
Clippings lie forlawn, awaiting disposal.
Stiff-shoulders, job complete for another year,
the gardener sinks into his armchair and commands:
“let spring commence”.
February 21, 2013
Lincoln A to Z – G10 the problem seed
a stroke of the pen,
global game
empire and politics
arbitrary decisions
divided peoples
straight lines
far off rulers
hewing of nations
fields of Fen Farm
North Kesteven Lincoln – Lincoln North Kesteven
just like that
February 16, 2013
The frosted trees of Welwyn
The rich folk of the gardens of Welwyn
Think much of their festive frost
And the trees in the parks that surround them
Are painted white and to hell with the cost
February 3, 2013
Echoes of Madness
The Lawn, early morning silence,
the city had not yet stirred.
Footsteps in the dew
stopped to listen.
The hair blown breeze
danced around a face
focussed on a sound,
a growing whisper, a cry.
Doors slam, heavy boots,
dissident murmurs of the past.
The dew lifted and
came the shriek of innocence,
children hide and seek.
“No ball games allowed”
A remnant of old order,
echoes of madness
calming under the palm.
January 26, 2013
Two old men sat at a table
The two old men were sat at a table outside a pub. It was a freezing cold January morning. Not a day to sit around chewing the cud and watching the world go by. This was theatreland and wherever you looked there were billboards advertising shows.
What were they doing there? Had they just come off a night shift at a theatre? It seemed unlikely. It was around 9.30am. Were they on their way to work? What’s the story?
Everyone else scurried by, heads down obscured by scarves, hands shoved well and truly in pockets.
When I am older and time is no longer on my side will I sit quietly waiting?
The story of a life, recounted, a nodding audience, dwindling.
My simple needs, a cup, a taste, the finest in a lifelong gathering
Collections of the day, the careless mind retreating.
January 17, 2013
The gentle snow
The gentle snow fell,
brushing my cheeks
laid bare, the light caress
of a cold lover. Emotionless.
Miniature flakes
filled the sky,
icy promise.
January 6, 2013
The jug of milk
I sat having breakfast, Weetabix with a banana and grapes, and stared at the milk jug. It’s a four pinter. Not as big as a six pinter but it still holds a goodly amount of milk. Whatever is in my bowl the milk is a constant. It’s been there as long as civilisation and before. It is easy to let the mind drift off to days in the past where the milk has been there with other people sat around the table, or around the fire.
The delivery mechanism has changed over the years from jugs to bottles to cartons and plastic bottles but the basic content inside is the same. We get trendy modern variations such as semi-skimmed and skimmed milk (yuk) but the white stuff is fundamentally unchanged.
There is something comforting about the timelessness of the jug of milk. Having it on the table means all is well, nothing has changed.
It sits there, unpeturbed
The milk in its white glazed jug
With pictures of cows on the front
At your service.
Pick up and pour.
When I was at university I would have three pints of milk a day – breakfast, lunch and dinner. It ranks as one of my all-time favourite drinks together with water, a good cup of tea and a pint of Timothy Taylors Landlord bitter. Years ago it used to be Marston’s Pedigree but Landlord has overtaken it. The milk does have to be cold though.
These days three out of four kids have the taste. When everyone is at home we go through five or six pints a day. Anne has to supplement the delivery from the dairy with purchases from Tesco.
Drinka pinta milka day.
It’s disappeared off the table in front of me now, the jug of milk. Put away in the refrigerator by an efficient soul. Breakfast is over though the cereals need putting away. I’ll do that once I’ve finished my second cup of tea and dropped Joe and his trumpet off at choich.
The dishwasher gurgles.
