A round flash of colour -
Maybe blue, maybe grey -
A small dark centre,
Darkened by the depth
Of the world of which
It is only the beginning.
Sparkling somehow,
Reflecting beauty,
Reassuring friendship
Flashing a warning.
To catch her eye for a second
Is to see so far into her mind
That you blink
And look away,
A little scared, in case too much becomes known.
15 February 1972
Peter just sits there silently
Watching the people go by and
Wishing he were one of them.
He smiles at his little book of
Delicate doodles and drawings that
Say the things he can't say.
His clothes are his brother's who
Is doing well in the city.
His hair is cut too short on
Sundays when his uncle comes
With the scissors and another
Pencil and little sketch book.
Mary just sits there and looks at
Him in his little world of no sound
Telling him fireside stories which only
They know and only they hear.
A door slams goodbye after supper,
A car engine whispers 'they're gone',
A glance at each other says
More than just words,
A kiss says forever
For a while again.
March 1972
I run down
A never ending slope
To a bright blue lake
Of sympathetic water
Surrounded by
The red and white stripes
Of deck chairs
In a room
In the country
Near one of those roads
Which goes round
And round
Next to the signpost
Pointing to the village
Of strange smiles
And don't you know faces
Facing nothing
That you don't know
Already
Connected by wires
To the socket
In the wall
Where a picture
Hangs
Telling me I've been
There before
Before my eyes closed
On artificial sunshine
Trying to create
A world of their own
To see where the
Bluebells grow
In the pine needle wood
Next to the field
Where I fell asleep
And forgot
To turn the light off.
20 April 1972
Sometime between closing my eyes
To sleep and
Waking in the morning again
We're together in
One of those romantic scenes
Others only know at
Some kind of old time movie.
Our fingertips touch gently
As we look into
Each other's eyes knowingly.
I kiss your cheek in that nice way
Someone of
Our generation just never seems to do.
You smile at my baggy trousers and
My little bow tie whilst
I look down at the ground, embarrassed.
On a little island in carefree ocean
We are
Sometime between today and tomorrow.
13 March 1972
Over the hill when the full moon is high
Sadness shimmers in the haze.
'Don't go there,' they say, 'while the dark owls fly'
'No not there' - in the distance they gaze.
Their eyes seem so weary, lacking lustre or shine
As they turn their heads back to the ground
Shuffling along with no sense of time
No smile of joy, no laughter, no sound
Winter darkness veils the old houses
As candle shadows leap in the street,
Such silence only the unknown arouses
In the village, echoes waiting to greet
Morning's blue skies and cool breeze relief.
'She'll come again.' they say. 'But why?' they ask
'Why are we haunted?' 'Why so much grief?'
Questions perhaps to be answered at dusk.
Later in half-light strange, neither today nor tonight
When moon shadows send lambs running scared
Desperate sorrow arose neath the stars' light
Few looked up, just the few who dared.
The shape of a woman appeared in the wood,
Walking silently yet demanding attention.
'I have come to you, as you all knew I would.'
Crystal voice spoke to aged apprehension.
People knelt and bowed their heads to the earth.
'Look up!' she looked, 'You're old but alive,
'Not to linger for death did your mothers give birth.
'I beg you, for love and laughter to strive.'
'But why send us fear for thirty long years?'
Wondering voice cried out from the crowd,
'To our hearts so much fear, and so many tears?'
A question everyone echoed aloud.
'Aged are your voices, as the songs here once sung
'Like the last drop of snow in spring you remain
'And hide from the sun - you dare not be young -
You let sadness return once again.'
'I am that sadness, and the memories you know
'That'll stay until time will allow
'You to forgive the girl who died long ago
'I've a right, I believe, to know how.'
3 March 1972
I believe there's a city in the pleasure-grass
with towers of hopeful in the clouds
a door in the smile-please opening to a hello
and a welcome-mat bristling with joy
somewhere that over the rainbow knows
but the better the devil ignores
somewhere that sometime goes for a wind in the stroll
visiting clothes-horse and whiter than whiter
accelerates motor-car and
fares tram-ride gaily whilst
heard sits there silent on
the sun 'neath the road-sign
29 February 1972
Getting dressed on a cold winter's morning
As the snow slowly whitens the ground
Making breakfast and lighting a fire
Crouching close to the warmth of a flame.
Smiling at faces at work when when I get there
Wondering what they're thinking and why
Opening a file and writing on papers
Trying to work hard when your mind wants to wander
Feeling hungry and parting with pennies
In return for a brief but hot meal
Sitting back for a moment to let it go down
Then waiting for 'time to go home'.
Watching the sky grow dark in the window
Seeing the moon grow bright as I leave
Listening to night's slow fall all around me
Hearing the rush-hour crowd rushing by.
Getting back to my room and one comfy chair
Resting in please don't disturb land
Writing that must write a letter to her
Reading it, folding it, just sitting holding it.
Closing your eyes at the end of the day
Dreaming of tomorrow and what it will bring
Hoping it's good knowing nobody knows
Sleeping by accident, dozing on pupose
Waking at dawn to an early bird song
Musing the mystery of mist on a grey day
Til sunshine bursts through once again.
15 February 1972
