In a nightgown of mist the garden sleeps
While Dawn yawns quietly and cold birds creep
Revealed now are the webs and well-spun plans
Of spiders profiting where they can
Silken traps woven out of view
Now hang heavy with the dew
A world held ransom by their threads
As we lay sleeping in our beds
The alarm clock rings, a blackbird's call
And soon the mist will fret and fall
Day will chase these thoughts away
But spiders sit and spin and prey
Water-Maps
In those shapes rushing back to the sea
I see the reflected bodies stretched and distorted
Swimmers pushing against the tide
The passing echoes of wading feet
Sand rill rip-tides of a child’s beach
Pebble constellations mimic the sky
Plucked by the wave and placed
As random as the stars in space
A good pebble to skim with
The seventh wave crests over our stumbling feet
Dragging back the cold shock, balance lost, wet socks
The train slows outside the station
Long enough to let me notice
Towering over the platforms' sleek arteries
A shard of glass and steel
Holding the sky in its nettle grasp
All around new tower blocks jostle
To London Bridge
The frantic pace of change
Echoed in the insistent alarm
And slow hiss of pneumatic doors
I alight into the hot Friday of a London June
First point of call is Southwark Cathedral
A quiet stay in the fabric of passing traffic
All welcome here, even the cat
And I marvel at the wooden bosses
The icon and the poet's tomb
I rub Will's knee for luck
And pause at the door
Visibly moved by the Marchioness Memorial
But the river runs on regardless
I walk with the quick pace of a city dweller
Not the slow doodle across the pavement
Of the day tripper who stops and stares
At every blue plaque and brass doorknocker
No, I sweep pass the Golden Hinde
And into Clink Street
A detour over Southwark Road
And Bankside finds me by the Globe
Neatly thatched and insular
To the passing street theatre
Clowns and mimes and Latin Americana
Now I am here
Outside the Tate Modern
Industrial cathedral
With its hallowed spaces
Of art and culture held within
A red brick certainty
A guest coffee and biscuit on the members' terrace
As people wander over the Millennium Bridge
And sailing dinghies ply the stretch upriver
With a breeze as sharp as Cleopatra's needle
Downstairs and through doors
To find the Miro exhibition
In the theatre of his war
Every canvas his stage
Every print a soliloquy
To art
To freedom
Perhaps to dream
An infinite blue silence
Against the outrage
Of bloody oppression
No voice more eloquent
In these thronging rooms
On South Bank there's a beach
With sand and huts
And a large straw fox
It makes me laugh
The juxtaposition of this day
From surrealism to surreal
Sushi for
Lunch is such a treat
Across the footbridge at Charing Cross
And on to Trafalgar Square
Where the sweet spray from the fountains
Cools the heat from my face
As light as summer rain
On the people's plinth sails a ship in a bottle
By the National Gallery a green wall grows
And here, the Olympic Clock, still ticking
Counting down my passing feet
Piccadilly and the Royal Academy
Sipping Pimm's from room to room
As canvas after canvas adorn the walls
In ever greater scale and price
My eyes alight on beetled buttons
And a fat kingfisher
A dog rooting in a bin
A swirling red galaxy inexorably pulling me in
All punctuated by a circle and a square
The tide of fluorescent red dots
Rising, up the wall
To remind me
The river runs on regardless
Now London in high afternoon heat
Heaps sweat and dust and noise on my brow
Rush hour soon as pavements swell
Under the bridge the neat rows of coloured lights
The final shattered bones of buildings
Being shored up with comedy clubs and beer cellars
And all around the commuters press ahead
To London Bridge
Against this human tide
I catch a glimpse
A face
A moment's recognition soon lost
They were heading in the other direction anyway
And my train is due
Under the lime tree
The scent is a sweet perfume
A friend holding my arm
Smiling
Whispering memories in my ear
& I remember a time when
Younger knees
Could run through all the trees
Through the apple orchard
Long grass wrapping wet fingers
Around our ankles
Slipping on the windfalls
Turning to wasp cider where they lie
Through the orange orchards
Dry red dust washed from our bare feet
By the chirping cicada of the sprinklers
My path, now slow
Winds through the mown avenues
Of old trees saving up for autumn
And the streams & rivers
Are quiet ponds of silver
Where fish dream under waterlilies
And memories, like the clouds above
Are reflections in still water
The lime tree sheds no tears
At all the years passing downstream
But fills the air with giddy scent
So I can glide my eyes across the water
And tenderly remember
A time once spent
Running through
Summer orchards
A westerly wind
Throws its arms around my shoulders
A warm hug
While all the leaves
Laugh loudly
On this midsummer noon
A day flying bat over the pond
Mirrored by a dragonfly
Above the rust and ragged robin
Dances in time to distant drums
Young apples and old carp
The perfect balance
A snapshot
Of this midpoint on the solstice
On the hill they wait
Old stones counting songs
Till sunset
But here, in this warm breeze
Now the storm has past
I count my blessings
As the year moves on
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