Sedate Canal
Shall we caress the red robin’s breast
And share the blood of Christ
Sedate Canal
You retain the glowing reflection of the sun
Your greed is not impressive
Sedate Canal
There is a narrow channel
That leads to a dark tunnel
Let us admire this vacant waterway
Sedate Canal
Unlike a river you are quite still
But your waters still reach their destinations
Letter from Vincent
I met Mauve today and had a most regrettable conversation with him which made clear to me that Mauve and I have parted for good
Mauve has gone too far to retract and anyhow he wouldn’t want to
On a happier note I saw a couple dancing quietly on the platform of my home town railway station yesterday
They appeared to have been of Mediterranean origin (perhaps Italian) and quite why they were dancing there was a mystery to me
Do you remember as children how we played in the sand beneath the footbridge?
A simple occupation but I remember imagining how I saw couples dancing on the platforms of the station
A childish dream maybe but it was real to me
Without being intrusive I watched them for a while
Was he a dance instructor and the raven haired girl his protégé
And then the train arrived and my thoughts were broken
Here is an excerpt of my letter to Emile I think my comments may interest you
However since nothing confutes the assumption that lines and forms and colours exist on innumerable other planets and suns as well we are at liberty to feel fairly serene about the possibilities of painting in a better and different existence an existence altered by a phenomenon that perhaps is no more indigenous and no more surprising that the transformation of a caterpillar into a butterfly or a grub into a maybug
The existence of a painter-butterfly would be played out on countless celestial bodies which after death should be no more inaccessible to us than the black dots on maps that symbolise towns and villages in our earthly lives
I am now on the platform where the dancers stood and under the bench there is a black shoe
I wonder of it belonged to them or is a refugee of an earlier dance not witnessed
I close by telling you that there are many butterflies at this station
Some are vivid some are plain
And I watch them drift carelessly in the gentle breezes in the times between trains
Twilight Song
My valet visited the four Windsors
And on his return
Sang quietly
Into the violet twilight
Of his day
God is a Nightingale
God is a nightingale
I hear his sweet voice
Each morning as I wake
I see God in many things
Fish
When the flood waters receded
Numerous puddles remained
These contained trapped fish
Some were fearsome
Some benign
As the days grew fatter
These puddles began to dry
Which suffocated the unfortunate fish
Many died
But some were saved
And swim in the fallow rivers
Awaiting the next storm
Love Poem
How lovely you are
In your wedding dress
This is your day
Cherish it with all your heart
As it will not return