Winter Mist
Cruel Winter, ice on split knuckles
I’ve almost lost all of my vigour
No interest in what was held dearest
I’ll board a train, head towards the mist
Swift hours, dwindling distractions
A bluey fog fastens to the window
This bold venture does me no favours
A grinding halt, I haven’t begun well
Idyllic
I’m purged of habits not thought artistic
I rest and smile, it is idyllic
I cut the shoots of my only talents
It is idyllic, fatigued and stunted
Between The Acts
Those letters you thought to keep
Between the acts, uncle to niece
Your mid-twenties in passing weeks
The late-thirties, the end of peace
Your house has stood some fifty years
Nine grandchildren we wish you had seen
Empty Carriage
Home is where I sit, in transit
Aboard an empty carriage
Never to alight, nor mind that
I haven’t touched a soul
I’d give them all the slip
But the heart sinks
Who knows, would there be mourning?
Steal away this ride
Leaving aside no trace, no scent, no litter
By The Window
Oh, I have caught on, blinkered I know
My thoughts are grubby but they needn’t show
Once saw the stern oak, under the evening’s glow
Now, see the brown specks that stain my window
Discovered In A Photograph
In a garden near my own home
Long before I was born
Those family members gathered
Held poses for our wall
It’s already been so long
Their names are cast in stone
Some may have been happy
All of them died alone
I peer at every figure
Guess at each one’s laugh
Their much-mocked stern expressions
Hide them from my grasp
It’s already been too long
I would wither alone
I want my name in someone’s heart
Before it’s cast in stone
The Return
One searching look for assurance
By my admission I held back
Now restraint seems dull and unimaginative
What comes of this?
A hasty return
Then was the time for a proper gesture
Clear, firm and fast, now it’s passed
What comes of this?
One more page turned
Our Lost Domain
Sing out the notes of an Autumn song
Call back the days when she linked your arms
Beneath the scent of rotting compost
A warm nostalgia, a borrowed calm
Loosen your scarf and pull up your bike
Fly down the dingle, chase dying daylight
Far Too Hopeful
I haven’t left her behind
Tapped into youthful optimism
Record with care
For attached is tattered pride
A flame flickers wildly
A semblance left for posterity
Reflect in these dim rooms
On immeasurable kindness
And now for beginnings
Dust me down, adjust my coat
To make one offering
Please take me by the hand
Those Phrases
A butterfly powdered
The lake, still, unbroken by your oars
That will be useful…
