blckbird

The wild Cyclamen are in bloom
Nestling in the grass
Their marbled leaves
Will stay for summer
Soon to fade and seed.
Not bold like daffodils
Or the Iris in the border
Which eyes me every day
Casting seeds in June
They've spread across the meadow
Under shrubs and trees
To delight in Spring.
One must bend down low
To find them,
Pull back their grassy hide
Plant them as you will,
They'll decide to stay
If you give them peace.

Something wrong today,
Its hot, my jacket far too warm
Beneath a woollen hat
My scalp is wet,
Shirt clinging to my back,
Face unhealthy red and glowing.,
Uncomfortable, unseasonable summer
February blue and bright,
Forcing Lenten Lily,
Waking up the harvest mouse.

We’d come a two hour drive
Portmeirion our destination
Along those roads
The Welsh do so well..........
Smooth serpentine curves,
As sexy as their women,
Curves that guide one round the bends
No need to slow............
Forty all the way.

Out of season strawberries
Dressed a fruit shop window
The rich man’s right
To eat from four pound punnets
Filled by little men
Paid such a sum per hour,
Sweating in a tunnel......
Exotic out of season
Foreboding in the air.
Babel caravans in Kent

All too soon, far too much
The bill not far away
And when it comes, far out of reach,
Eat, if you will,
Those strawberry fruits .
August may be hot
The ground too dry,
The lake shore parched and wide..
The jetty far too short
For children in canoes.

She stood statuesque
Skirt too short
To her pale thighs
Blouse too low
She's there most nights
Her black bag on her arm.
I have no need of her
As she would of me.
I know not why
Cannot stay to ask
Would like to give her money,
And drive swift away
But with my number taken
A letter in the post
I cannot take the risk.
There'll be many more
Sadly, there'll be many more.
There is no recession
On the roundabout.

I floated half hidden from my self
Buoyed on ferns and things like that
Sheltered from the wind and rain
Trees, shaded from the sun and glare.
Only badger sentinels to guard
So black and white....and some brown.
Where is this place,calm and peace ?
I came in dream,woke upon the ground
A green and pleasant ground,dry-soft.
I shall stay a while until I sleep,
To dream my way to home and daffodils.
I do not wish to wake until I'm home
Then,should I dream once more
I can return again to this green place,
To float half hidden from my self,
Buoyed on ferns and things like that.

The redundant mill-race mirror smooth
Slid passed toward' the twisted wheel
Its paddles limp and lose and rotting
The gates were open,water wasting by
Tumbling to the river
Willow, reeds and cygnets
The Halcyon skimmed the silent stream
Gliding passed us as we sat,
Flashing reds and blues
Catching fish for supper
Before the setting sun,
The dreaming day now closing.
A dove, cooing love to all who listen
Comes out to say goodnight.
So we leave the dewy grass
To the frogs and snails
The mill stream to the fish.

Dark and deep the transient night,
Seven hours yet to midnight
Evening lingers in the west
The squirrel curled and safe in bed
Black bird in the holly
Both awake today and busy.
Swept away the leaves for spring,
Clouds drew back the curtains
Called in the sun to help.
And so to home I drove,
The day had been content,
Everything complete,
Nothing planned,
But everything complete.

I've toiled and slaved
And solitary stayed at home
Now this whoring
Bastard son of yours
Gorges on your love.
Why so pleased?
For years he's gone....
I said he would
The day you shared his rights
Spent the lot, I bet
Now he crawls
Penniless and desolate
Because in genital delight,
He forgot his Dad

Your son is safe,
But is your love?
Should such a jewel
Lose its self in the muck
That he has bathed.....
When he's bathed in brighter juice,
And purified, you think, his soul,
He'll run again
To the tarts and cellars,
Boasting of his stupid Dad.

I've stayed at home
Cleaned the pigs
And milked the goats,not you,
The plough I've pushed and pulled
But now I'll rest,
Save my strength
Direct it down to where he's spent,
And take my genital delight.

I passed an earning-man today
As I walked along the road
My arms were light
My feet as borne on wings
It was cold,the wind blew strong and rained
The hawthorns slept late
But I was warm and strode
With yard-long strides
Beneath a thick black coat
We said "Hello,nice day"
And unison replied "It is"
He dressed in mac' and heavy boats
Which clomped on a shiny spade
And turned with every grunt
The muddy gutter dust and tarmac' gravel
To free the drain for wet March rain.
I would have stopped to talk
About his job,the weather and the strikes
But I had a holiday today
And he said no more.
He was an earning-man
And the late spring road stretched out
Before him,
As the day stretched out
For me..................

I returned along the road
From where I'd been
As the wind opposed my way
And cooled my face,as in the morning
The road was clean and dry
Although the rain had been
Wind had towelled dry the the top
And the sun aired the grass.
The ditch beside the verge was clear
And showed the fresh spade-stroke slashes
Of the self same tool
I'd seen in the morning
With the earning-man in boots
He was no there
(I'not expect him there at six)
It was eight when we'd said hello
And the fresh cut marks stretched out
To show the honest toil
That stopped our talk
(And many another I guess)
The pools and splashes
Of my outward walk were gone
So I walked without a care
Whistled to the wind and
Stirred the hawthorn leaves
A late night bird fluttered to my tunes
As a cottage stack blew smoke
Where I think
An earning-man in slippers
Sat and smoked his pipe
Before the roasting fire and kettle

The concrete seemed so short
The turn so steep.......
We and the plane were down.
A fortnight lay before
The sky was blue
The mountains sharp and dark
With ribbon streams
And dangerous challenge,
No clouds,they were to come
A fortnights Eden lay before,
Before we knew not what
The bed was flat,we used it well
And slept the whole night through
Woke once to taste the air
A holiday from home,
Locked and safe and waiting.

Innocence is no crime
There was no need for hope
We did not know
Why hope when skies are blue?
The clouds were left behind,
Thousands walked us by,without a word
We only spoke for wine,a meal
A simple meal,not too much
No sweet.

Turned north the streets were steep
Forty-five, you trod them well
I did not know, nor you
We bought some fruit
I ate it all,sucked it on the quay,
Waiting for the bus
As the ships went by.

In years the rain
Had never come in August,
Surprised them all
So strange to see the shiny streets
Jewelled leaves and gurgling gutters
It came by night,ashamed
And gone by eight
Fog-like,low,not bold as home.
It needed practice,not like ours
Which turns out every day!
They learned the art of weather-talk,
Cafe conversations just like home.
In all the years we went away
It never rained,not once as I recall,
We shrugged away the rain
Went a gentle walk
To watch the plants and lizards
Why it had rained I did not know
No, I did not know
So much I did not know

The day was dark and slow,
I thought it day.......
I did not know, it was so dark
my watch said twelve
its analogue contemptuous of day or night.
We drew our scarves about us,
limp about our necks damp and chill
white wool curtains down our sides
green boots around our knees.
And so the day( or was it night)
dragged on,dark and slow
dark and slow slow so slow
darkening with each minute.
We were afraid.I looked at my watch,
secretive as before,what was going on?
the sky drew darker,still,around us
silent,dead,unnerving.
we had no control,if that we ever had,
sat on the ground and waited
until the snow,not known in summer
fell deep and swift and black.
And so we watched,we knew this so well
from child-hood days,but never black like this.
All day ( or night)
it came metres deep to our heads and more
and so we stood, what else to ?
it seemed an age and more,
no air to breath no birds to sing
Then,slow the manna melted,
worms began to stir.....free of bird and mole,
again the streams ran clear and bright,
water weed and frogs
but no one to catch the fish.

She sat beneath the orange tree
watching in the shade
on a dreamy afternoon,
olive trees and rosemary
wine glass spilling on the grass,
drying in the sun.
Oranges and lemons
nursery-rhymes and childrens songs
flying kites and skipping ropes
hide-and-seek and tricycles,
shouts and laughter in the pool
cloudless blue and purple sea,
white sails leaning in the breeze,
on a Sat'day afternoon.

Do you think they care
if God created man
to be is just enough,
so ignorant of this and that
can't tell one from 'tother,
time to them is as it is,
food and drink a chick or two,
watch out for the fox.
We worry of the future,
there is no such thing
we talk of past times,
time does not pass,
we can wait for ever
for the future,
it never did exist
as for the past
its only in the spelling