where angels sing..)
Riverside (2007, Medway)
Along
Riverside we wander
Up
the banks and pebble beach
The
tidal flats and stranded reach
Of
the Medway ebbs and hues
Walking
in our Sunday shoes
Old
boats heave their shoulders against the mud
Seabirds
quarrel in rivulets and feathered squalls
The
sky lifts its brow above the Isle of Grain
Dogs
dig in the mud, barking into the wind
On
the island promontory pirates dwell
We’re
all castaways, and ne’er do wells
Volcanoes,
caves and crocodile pits
And
blackberries we suck and spit
Then
all too soon
It’s
time to go
Back
among the ebb and flow
Of
walkers, kids and bicycles
Of
dogs and prams and tricycles
I
found a tiny empty shell
Too
small to hear the tidal swell
Of
the Medway as she slides
Along
the shores of Riverside
On
Minster Beach (2007, Isle of Sheppey)
On
Minster beach
The
pebbles reach
From
sea wall to the bream
A
jet ski glides
Upon
the tides
And
all of us, for free
Are
counting stones
And
herring bones
Old
pottery and shell
A
happy scene
The
estuary gleams
As
seaweed rides the swell
The
Garden Party (Review of RochLitFest Garden Party, Rochester 2013)
Midday
Too
hot really
To
be walking now
The
kind of heat
That
blisters the pavement
And
sticks it
Oozing
To
your feet
Coins
for the car park
I
forgot the suntan lotion
Hat
and flip flops
But
remembered
Coins
for the car park
I
must be mad
Mad
dogs and Englishmen
It
is too
hot
but I won't be late
I
can add garden parties to that list
As
roses pave the way
To
The Good Intent
And,
at the corner, I find the open gate
Bunting
bedecked and sunlit stage
The
square back yard
Now
filling with expectant faces
An
audience eager for a performance
Slogan
t-shirts, parasols
Great
big boots and bare feet
Cold
drinks, crisps and finding spaces
Overhead
One
lone skylark
Bisects the sky
Invisible
geometry
To
the eye
And
they transport us now
To
their other worlds
These
poets and storytellers
These
song singers
And
vibrant voices
With
didgeridoo and tambourine
With
rhyme and prose
Transforming
the air
Into
the gilded sunspun
Dreamscape
places
An
alchemy wrought of words
Two
planes interrupt with their lazy, drawling engines
Inside
the bar the cool interior
Is
a tonic to the heat
And
here too
Is
music
And
here too are people to meet
And
all too soon
It's
four o'clock
And
I have stayed too long
In
the sun
Coins
for the car park
Counting
down
The
day
I
forgot the suntan lotion
Hat
and flip flops for
The
garden party
Reculver Beach (2014, Reculver)
The rough leather of a
dog fish skin
Spiry and age-spotted
into dry seaweed
Scratching on the soles
of our shoes
And a perfect crab
shell, legs and all
Hollowed out by the
tide
Soft parts long since
departed
Now weeping scales of
salt onto our palms
Bleached shells and
smooth pebbles
Picked from a beach
pocked with horned poppy
As we walk beyond the
reach of the sea
And all along the
Viking Way they cycle
Flat out, fast and free
Billowing their hair
with a windy brine
From Wigmore and
wherever
In serious pursuit of
leisure
Here now, the old flint
walls
Flinching under a blue
sky
As starlings form a
chorus line
High up on the rafters
of the old towers
To entertain us with a
song and dance
From some bawdy, birdy
music hall
Reviewing the late
summer sky
This weather cannot
last
Rain tomorrow
And they will give one
last bow
Then exit left for
winter
And all along the
Viking Way we walk
Dawdling at the view
Of giant windmills out
to sea
And trains and tractors
Pulling the flat land
taught
Below a winnowed sky
We reach the car park
Just time for a drink
and a snack
This weather cannot
last
They say it'll rain
tomorrow
And we comment, again,
on the cormorants
Fishing from the posts
in pairs
And if they were young
egrets we saw in that tree
And we give one last
bow to the beach
While checking our
shoes
Then exit left for the
motorway
Dungeness
Day (pre 2007)
Bleak
bit of beach, this
Where
we stray
For
old black and white photos
Dungeness
day
Linger
for a while
Before
we leave
And
comment on the stones
Below
our feet
Out
of focus wood and wire
Roll
up to the breakers
And
dead seaweed strewn
In
the wet spray
Of
a Dungeness day
Bleak
bit of beach, this
Where
we stray
For
old black and white photos
Dungeness
day
At
the bar I’ll
Have
a pint
Don’t
mind if I do
Fire
warms me
Fire
to burn through the cold
From
the wind tunes
Playing
in the fence
Cold
perimeter
Of
a Dungeness day
Bleak
bit of beach, this
Where
we stray
For
old black and white photos
Dungeness
day
Your
garden is beautiful
Your
vision is clear
Like
gulls over water
Free
in the air
Bleak
bit of beach, this
I’ve
captured it here
Black
and white photos
Somehow
sincere
Dungeness day
Early Morning on the
Allotment (2011, Maidstone)
Sounds of birdsong
Amplified and muffled
Hang directionless in
the low mist
Cobwebs strung with
pearls of water
Shiver in the cold
breeze
Wrapping around
Autumn's dew-hemmed skirts
Hanging heavy in the
air
Unable to shake free
From the early morning
chill
On the Way Back from
Canterbury (2014, Canterbury)
All the rain washed
world sparkles
Rushing headlong into
Spring
As we rally down late
potholed roads
Winter rainbows chase
the wind
Cloud kites flying
sunlit ribbons
Festoon the cold
February sky
Spring rain sweeps the
motorway
Washing buzzards from
the sky
And all the rain washed
world sparkles
Rushing headlong into
Spring
Despite our squeaky
windscreen wipers
We can hear the green
buds sing
The Ballad of Blue Bell Hill (Foreword from long poem, Blue Bell Hill, 2007)
And
the last bell rang long ago
Echoing on those ancient stones
As
kings of yore and pilgrims still
Walk
up on windswept Blue Bell Hill
Stag,
bear and baying hounds
Chased
the chalk hill hunting grounds
Pilgrim,
trader
Refugee,
invader
Paced
their tales o’er the North Downs
Sit
with me, here on this hill
And
hear the echoes if you will
Of
ghosts and battles long since lost
And
how too many paths have crossed
From
ancient flint to modern drill
We’ve
taken to and from this hill
But
this green shoulder sometimes still
Gives
up its secrets to those who will
With
a care listen on the green sill
And
hear the Ballad of Blue Bell Hill
