Sunday 26 August 2012

Winters room




in vellum rooms and beams
filtered light of late afternoon
falls as dust motes lazily rest
on cold mantles and time

behind the skirting
a mouse skitters
hopeful of fallen pomegranate seeds


down wide corridors
hangs the scent of damp ash and wax
and long forgotten silent faces
listen to the sound of baby grand
ivory and  manuscripts turning
in the hands of the master.

26/8/12

The latest Mag over at Tess's. The image is The Big Room by Andrew Wyeth



Sunday 19 August 2012

October mist




under windsor bridge 1912 adolfe vallette


last night
we waited for the man with a truck of flowers
while a police car slid by
slowly watching us
for inappropriate dealing
dusk was falling
on a cold October  day
as mist rose slowly
rowing teams glided past
shouts echoing on Victorian bricks
avoiding calamity
a dog splashed down the slip way
scattering ducks
beaks tucked under wings
washed in amber  light.

19/8/12

This did happen, by a bridge, in Windsor, we were trying out  a new supplier, his flowers turned out not to be so good.
The picture also reminded me of my grandfather who worked in the Camel-Laird shipyard in Birkenhead throughout the war, I'm sure he saw lots of foggy days like this as he rode his bike to work.
Do go and see the other writers work at The Mag.



Sunday 12 August 2012

reborn




stiffened limbs
wracked with age
creak
making the grind of life
often too much to bear
the once spring of step
a long distant memory
along with
smooth skin and lost nights
of passion
blur at the edges
backed into dark recesses
the hurt of loss
painful to recount
shallow breath slows
rasping
at the dead hour before dawn
stops.

all is still and calm
as the world shifts

slightly

until
encouraged by the ripples of salt water
and the singing of the moon
the strands of being
twist with the tides
and seasons pass
immeasurable in beauty
breathing life again
breaking free from preformed bindings
grasping hold firmly
as she emerges
born again.


This is my poem for The Mag  130 over here.
the image is by Francesca Woodman.



Sunday 5 August 2012

last night




And 
this morning
carefree and lithe
we walked through the meadow
delighting in the scent of  fresh mown grass
to the horses in the paddocks
velvet muzzles
nibbling in search of crisp apples and such
gentle whinnying 
we thought they told us secrets
of love and amber eyes
watching closely
you pushed back a lock of ebony curls
i shivered
even though the sun was warm
on linen shirts and moleskin
you brushed my lips dry
as i sighed with the  hope of it all.

the image is by john singer sergeant