blckbird

I returned to the castle garden
the day was calm and still
above the clouds were heavy
the rain cold as only summer can
she stood as last year
poised in naked dignity.
hello proud beauty
do you remember me last year?
I did not ask your name,
you never asked me mine
I dreamed you leaning over me
did I really kiss your breasts
not knowing who you are?
please tell me who are you
did you come from Rome
to stand the English winters?
I only visit here in summer
but naked beauty
all the winter through
you wait for summer sun
and me ?
did you wait for me?
I think I saw you smile
or was it a trick of light
I am not here to dream again
but talk about the day last year
the day we lay upon the grass
did no one see us there ?
tell me pretty lady,
whisper in my ear.
you are wiser, far,than me
tell me what you know
standing in the rain
your back, against the yew,
a symphony to rival Brahms.
I have seen but once
turn your back again on me,
let me know you've listened
I am a fool.............
there are others just like me
who stand and stare before you,
it was a dream I know
but dreaming brought you here
from quarry to this plinth,
your secret now I've guessed...
he who carved you has your love
do you dream to keep out the cold?
will he come and will you speak?
if he does and if you will
tell him that I called.

Tomorrow is but rumour
yesterday as far away
I have 'Now' its all I need.
keep the projector running.
Sit back and watch the play
all the world's a stage they say,
I'll go with that, its on right now
but which to watch BBC or SKY?
library shelves,super market shuffle
or through the kitchen window
glazed and shut tight closed ?
just let me dream,lie back
was there yesterday ?
if there was and some say yes
I let it all go by.

Why do they draw
back the bed clothes?
seems a waste to me
We are not in such a hurry
in any case not tired
count the tea bags
plastic milk and coffee
turn up the heating
hang the coats and dresses,
draw the curtains,shut the window,
necklace, watch and wallet
on the bed-side cabinet
alone at last,the door tight shut
weekend away.away from what?
been here before, twenty times I guess
the ritual just the same,
could do it just as well at home
but let's pretend again.
what time is dinner?
did they say at eight?
there's time and plenty
do not disturb hangs on the door
leave on the light,I need to see,
you are so very pretty.

Children skipping in the street
childish games of hop-scotch
marbles in the gutters
on the way to school
spinning tops and tennis balls
satchels down for goal posts.
lunch box with an apple
and so to school they went
to keep the school board man away.
stand in lines don't shuffle
upon the gravel play ground
your knees still pitted with the stones
shoe check last and in to class
three Rs and milk
third of a pint with cardboard top
then play ground games
and bleeding knees again,
salted slides in winter
drawing afternoons, crayon, coloured pencil
your picture on the wall for parents day.
home at half passed three
soccer on the way
scuffing up our shoes,
hide the ball spit upon your hanky
find the shoe box quick!
Mum's bringing in the washing.
feed the rabbits put the buck
in with the doe,does n't it look funny?
quick put them back ,here's Mum
take Joff for a walk she scolds
but I think I saw a smile.
tied him to a tree.........
soccer match 'til tea time.
sit to read a book
or dinky toys and aeroplanes
wash,pyjamas,cod-liver oil,
kiss for Mum and Dad
glass of water by the bed
freezing in the winter
howling cats and steam train whistles
secret teddy bear to cuddle
hidden in a drawer
no one knows but Mum.

I sat in the sun leaning on the grassy bank
The air droned with bee and fly
It was hot,my eye-lids heavy with the day
I fought to keep them open as she stepped down
Her skin smooth as though carved in Rome.
Her toga slipped at every step, fell in tumult folds,
I lay back,tried to see her face against the noonday sun
Which at her back gave halo to her beauty.
She smiled shameless as she strode towards me
No gown to hide her beauty;pride in every step,.
She knew what she was doing, took charge of the occasion
"I am woman see my thighs" as she stood above me
The sun was in my eyes,dazzled me,
But I could guess the promise she implied
She stooped to kiss my brow,I kissed as she intended
Found her warm not stone.

I had walked the garden many times
Admired afar this beauty coy and distant.
Why,this day,did she step down,why to me this gift?
So the day continued, how long I did not count.
Again she stood above me
Lay down to share the grassy bank,the sun behind the hedge
We kissed again...she goodbye,I could not speak the word
Turned her back a symphony to rival Brahms.
Then to the cold stone plinth,virginal and coy again
I watched her walk away, regret in every step,
One last smile, her hands discrete
Her breasts a memory on my lips
The garden bell disturbed my reverie
left her to the night
sleep sweet lady sleep alone
I shall return but not to dream
Such as this comes only once.

No more at Christmas tide
shall I see the steam
decorate the distance
on a frosty morning
the fields grow rape where once was sugar beet
lorries down the lanes and tractors
the campaign night and day,
smells of boiling soil and beet
no more mix with turkey dinner.
Standing by the road that Telford built
there are no longer clouds of steam
shining in the winter sun
white as frosty fields.
No more silo towers or chimneys
monuments to ingenuity
proud, midst rolling fields
nothing to draw the eye,no heritage to see.
Next they'll fell the cooling towers
the power station chimney
seen from miles away.

Sun beams slanting through the wood
steel sharp cold and cruel
March fighting off the Spring
to lose again as yester-year
but still he tries
his memory worse than mine!
Jack and I keep in the lea
tramp leaves and twigs
remnants of last year
green leaves once and branches;
around us trees lean and creak
setting seed and saplings;
a hundred years from now
I shall see the same
that's if I'm here
that's if it could be so.
brambles showing green,
I see nettles threaten in the shade,
pine and birch and alder
wave their fists,defy the storm
while ferns, brown,dry and waiting,
slumber in the shade.
I lose my hat and whistle Jack
who negotiates a biscuit
runs around the thicket
proudly finds the hat drops it at my feet
on the muddy path !
who cares says Jack, you never gave me shoes.
we're watched at every move,
the tits and finches cease to whistle,
were not here long,peace will soon return
the wood will struggle with the wind
hold back its leaves and blue bells
the clock goes forward, tomorrow will be late
but not in my wood,
time infinite as ever.

I was watching a bee buzzing round the Clematis armandii........ a pretty clematis but one with no perfume the blooms appear as made of China( cold) It is an evergreen...... it has no need of perfume as it is wind pollinated......... ideal for March flowering. Both the bee and the flower were, finally, disinterested parties.......... came in to write this poem.The bee is telling the story

I chose the flower in the hail
welcome on a cold March morn
delicate and pink,yet bold
the sepals open wide
not the least discrete
proud of its corolla
petals stamens stigma
small unlike Camellia,
had no need to forage
all was there to see,
but the flower had no nectar
(no other bee in sight)
could not seduce
as did Camellia
who hides her charms
pretends to innocence.
But the wind blows strong
on the terrace walk,
the pollen flies to fertilize,
stigmas plead in vain
if not ripe and ready.
Before me rests the bloom
I saw a while ago
pink and innocent,
no need of me
or me of it.

The gold finch is returned
joined the green
to raid the feeding tray
fighting off the blue tit
who ignores the peanut column.
they are all so fussy now a days
spoilt with too much choice !
but to my joy I see the wren
building in the ivy
clinging to the wall
and pulling at the roof tiles.
didn't prune it last year
will soon regret I know.
have n't got the heart
to cut it back,
yellow marbled leaves
hide the garage window.
the blackbird and his mate
blue tit and a robin
and the tiny wren
share the twisting branches
do not quarrel like the finches
fighting all day long.

Each mile there is another tune
they rush in tandem, randomly select,
as the hedges by the road.
Rhythm, compounding time,
punctuates the trees.
Every day we use this lane,
hardly changing on the way,
perhaps a daffodil today,
a dandelion now and then.
But music is another view,
each day a different theme,
today,Purcell and Blow,
tomorrow may be Haydn.
I listen as I ride
watch the driving mirror
One ear on the radio
the other on the road.

The Race

I have often crouched to the starter's gun
Warm, and heart beating the compounding hate
That loves to match the pride of others,
Crouching too and guessing the wait
Between the "Set" and bang!
In anguished dream, the night before
Run the race in yards and laps
Late have overtaken the sleep
I chased in need..........
And in the morning's flowering curtained dawn,
Have wakened to a dancing stomach's
Butterfly impatient wait,
With tired legs and helpless thoughts
Forward to the afternoon.

The bang! And eager boastful heels
Cleanly demonstrate my pride
And forgetting maternal manners,
Taught at knee and chapel pew,
Have within the rules, and just,
Grudging given space to other feet
Flaying arms and fist-clenched effort,
As to the bend I chased first place,
Gloating my way round the curve,
Thanking my luck that others cursed.
Bodies gently sweating, fresh tingled limbs
Feed the mind the cunning plans
That at the straightening curve
Demands the conserving wisdom
That saves the inch to gain a yard.

Then down the straight,
Heel-to-heel and spike-to-spike,
And make friends when he's beaten.
Well spent evening training bouts.....
No girls...no booze, glucose drink with egg
To the third sweep of the track
And the worry of being second.
Tearing hearts and weeping muscles
Cry as lost confidence wildly thrashes
Through the bramble bungles
Gambling all on fury dashes,
Over-taking on the curve!
The extra yards!
To Hell! And down the straight.

Equality be dammed, altruistic dreams
Are lost in this Olympian pursuit
He smokes, I don't, "he drinks," I water
I weigh eleven ten and stretch ten feet
My limbs are long and better.
"Beat him now!"
And be sorry when he's second.

Three laps gone,
Time to gamble,
To all save one the race is lost
He knows, so does he and him and you
Guts all ached, thighs taut and torn
And laces loose twice tied and checked
The noise of spectators' clamour is lost,
Only the breath of him behind
And sweat-salted eyes
Is heard and felt..........
And the cruel thoughts that he will break
Lose stride, or hope.
Then certain of the end
The straightened back and pumping arms
The tape streams honour on the BEST!
A race is won never again to lose.
A glorious moment as timeless as a fable
And forgotten soon by the adoring crowd,
With six penny tickets
And programmes for a bob.
.
Then from the sports ground’s white-lined green,
To the changing room,
Clammy with leather smells,
Embrocation, sweat tangled vests and towels,
To the shower to wash away
Defeated smells,
Or subdue the scent of victory.
Dry and comb the hair,
Don the crease lined shirt and tie.
So blazer dressed and
Kit packed in a canvas bag,
To the street and crowded pavement,
Shops, prams and church's steeple,
See the second to my first
Race towards the moving bus queue’s
Impatient wait........................
And meet defeat,
Watch illusive second with gentle gait
Un-cumbered arms,
Show his heels, clean as mine once were,
Pay his fare................................
And disappear in diesel fumes and traffic shuffle,
Leaving standing, stooped and stiff,
The victor burdened with his prize.

It is the noon, I feel it on my face
yet all is dark ,black on black.
"Fret not nor weep, open wide your eyes
open your eyes to see the sun"
My eyes are closed, yet I cannot sleep
I am wake to black,black on black
the night can be no more.
"The night is yet to come,open your eyes
open your eyes to see the sun,
separate these two do not let them merge
cousins both reverse of one another,
day succeeds to night as night to day"
My eyes stay closed,I have no will
is it the sun I feel upon my back.?
"It is the sun there is none other
your back is safe, cease to cry
let those tears dissolve your fear"
How do I stop this crying,tell me
I will try, oh! how I will try
but first tell me how to see the sun
evening soon, the sun is falling in the sky.
Am I too late all is black?
black and black again and the light fades fast
black rolls in, black on black, dark so dark.
"It is eve,you have no time to hesitate
take Hope to prise your eye-lids open,
it may hurt (it will),brave my friend
brave the pain,
there is joy behind those fears, and light"
I must trust you as I can no other.
Can I trust?
"You must decide, that is your complaint,
I can no more,soon,before the sun goes out,
soon before the sun falls from the sky"

There were no lovers in the hut
I did not scare them of that I'm sure
they too concerned with love and I did not stay.
Long ago the war,for one brief moment
stopped for them.....seconds better than eternity.
Do ghosts die as we ?
she died a while back,the Yank I never met,
is there now no need to haunt,or have I changed,
now immune to ectoplasmic visions?
if I have I'm sorry,more for myself than others;
when we met last year the wood took on a light
shining until now,
helped me through the winter.
God bless them all,lovers in the war
their ghosts, who stayed behind.

The sun has not lost the will to shine
struggled with the clouds all night
bright through the windows now
the dog basking in the warmth
anxious for his morning walk
while I sit here to write.
The washing's out and drying
The next load tumbling
swishing in the soap
With luck all dry by four.
Mundane as many days
But yesterday was fun

Not the sort of day for fun
but we found enough of gentle sport
dodging puddles in the park
childish nonsense,
fun for its own sake
never noticed the rain had stopped
It kept fine from there on,
pearls on Rhododendron blooms
glistened in the evening sun
while late snowdrop and Crocus
sheltered 'neath the hazel hedge.
Friday afternoon in March,
a weekend stretched before....
'Summertime' next week.

The kale stalks bleached and white
Wait the plough and harrow
Long since turned to milk
They wave farewell
And herald in the spring
Their job well done.
Sheep no more chew at turnips
The field now bare and brown
Ready for the busy plough.
In the field next door
Lambs gambol in the pasture,
Grateful mothers now chew grass
Rested through the winter
Signs of spring........
The earth is on the move
Signs of spring
Certain as bird song
Or the white of rabbits tails
Tractors on the road,
Make us late for tea
Smells of slurry
Fertilise the hungry soil
Manure from the cattle shed,
Stinking in the trailer
Dumped in rows beside
Machine trimmed hedges.
Mud and dung on number plates.
Urine on the road.
This is country
In all its honesty,
A factory by any other name.
Inconvenient, beautiful and stubborn.
Misunderstood by many
On sunny afternoons.

Sunday night at nine
A quarter moon
Lies on its back
The town half lit
Grave-yard dead.
Pubs? why do they open?
Traffic lights the only movement
Save for pigeons
Balanced on a ledge.
Yellow lines now visible
No parking
So we're told each day.
No one ever does at night
In the day no one cares
Wheels on curbs
The order of the day.
Tomorrow is a Monday
To open once again
Sell at half the price
Of yesterday.
Let them park
Where they will,
Hide the yellow lines,
But let them buy,
Please,let them buy.