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