Water-Maps

 

Starting a new set of poems/songs here under the title water-maps. The photo is from a walk along the beach at Weymouth Bay last week. 

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

And the sea whispers a story to me
In water-maps drawn, wave-torn from the deep

Apples for Tythes

 Step by step

The early light

Full of winter dreams

Is tangible in the air

Like swimming

Through those

Bare branches of

Lone coral trees

Where morning crows

Cough and call

The tides

 

These favourite lanes

Winding through winter

Paths steeped in water light

With apple trees for tythes

 

Paradise

Wellhouse

Pockets full of old rhynes

Views of the hill

Windmill

Wick

And above town

Where pavement heights

Change with

A will

 

Step by step in the early light

Walking the miles

Pockets full of old rhynes

And apples for tythes

 

Into the hot Friday of a London June (2011)

 

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

 

 

 

 

07/09/20

The morning, mist slumping from the fields, greets me

With a dazzling smile, Autumn sunshine in the soft air

Squirrels, tails punctuating the roofline, gather food

Where the eaves and gutters are waiting for leaves

And, up in the Museum tree, two jacks chat to a spotted cat

Waiting, hopefully, beneath. Eyes watching me

 

Along the lane, among the white nettle, ivy and old apple trees

I spot a chiff-chaff checking along branches or maybe it’s a willow warbler

Sage and yellow against the fresh, grassy snort of nearby horses

At the stile, the hazel branches form a perfect picture frame 

For the Tor, wearing a wide brimmed blue-sky hat

And a green skirt sprigged with people and sheep

 

Returning past the meadows, a lone swan glides

Schooner skimming the green seas low along the river line

A feathered arrow from an angel’s bow

Blackberry, elderberry, crab apple, chestnut, conkers

The colour of Autumn spilling from the trees

All festoon the path home in celebration of a passing summer

 

Feel the year slow, the fierce summer sun soften

The promise of Spring setting into ripe Autumn fruit

The harvest home, the seed set, the hard work won

A smile, a chat, a wide brimmed hat

And an early Autumn morning

 

The Lime Tree

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

 

Noon, Midsummer (20.06.20)

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

 

 

The Glowing Lanterns

This morning, early mist still rising

The river fields are lit with glowing lanterns

Hanging above the sweet meadow grass

Still full of faerie magic

There must have been a ball last night

Beneath these dandelion lamps

A waltz of wings and wild singing

With wine from drops of silver dew

Hedgerow birds are waking with a chorus

The river mist evaporating in the sun

But all across the rich green pastures

Glowing lanterns are still strung

Left alight for those who wake

Too early for the mortal world

There, in magic light they’ll stay

Beneath the glowing lanterns

These Days

I walk in silence with the wind

Winding cold fingers through mine

‘We are wild and free, these days’

It whispers

My hair dances in the air

Unrestrained, flowing like birdsong

From the starlings and blackbirds

It sings for me

But my heart is as empty as the road

As heavy as the clay under my feet

‘Dig deep’, ‘Dig deep’

The passing finches sing, wild and free

The clock has not stopped yet

But the minutes and seconds have gone

Only unwinding hours, uncounted days

Where time is measured in footsteps

I walk in silence with the wind

Winding cold fingers through mine

‘We are wild and free, these days’

‘Dig deep’, ‘Dig deep’