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