Starman
On Saturday mornings he rose from his bed quite naked and sat in front of his computer
After a busy week he wanted to write poetry
He imagined that his words would reflect civil strife death and senseless destruction
But instead he wrote poems of exceptional beauty
Full of lyricism and grace
Coffee
When he had completed his merry tasks
He shared
Coffee with his beautiful wife
He often undid her gown and caressed her happy breasts
And wondered which of the lives he led was the real one
Drifting through Saturdays
For less than a minute each Saturday morning
He took an interest
In the pale bricks that lined the station wall
How beautiful they are
He thought to himself
But do all things possess beauty?
His concentration was always broken
When his wife pulled up in the family car
If pale bricks possess such beauty
Why is ugliness so apparent in this wretched town?
Savage Garden
The fresh robin
A friend for a week
Now lies cold
In the gutter of a country road
I am only but now discovering the futility of time travel
Spring
The fields of England are covered with lambs
And family’s spring burnt
Await their pizzas (wood fired) next to the glowing tables freshly made
Primroses comfort each other in close proximity
As they profit in the early sun
But they know that they will fade soon out of memory
A cuckoo is heard in a distant air
And becomes the subject of much discussion
Perhaps it is close and is a master of disguise
No they are shy birds and never disclosed
The pizzas arrive splendid on grey slate
All are topped with the new meats of the countryside
And sad lambs in the surrounding meadows
Look longingly at their birth mothers
Vincent is Travelling
Vincent is travelling towards
The vivid cornfields
Only the crows are alarmed
2018