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The Reel

The Reel (Lifelines amended) Peter J Scott

All the characters in this book do not exist but in the imagination of the author, and have no relation in any way to anyone bearing the same name or names. Furthermore they are not inspired by anyone the author has, does know, or is unknown to the author, and all the incidents herein are pure invention. The text of this book or any part thereof may not be reproduced by any means, or transmitted in any form be it electronically, or mechanically, including photocopying, recording, storage in a retrieval system, or otherwise without the written permission of the author. This book is sold subject to the condition that it may not be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise distributed without the prior consent of the author in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without similar condition, including this condition being imposed upon the purchaser.

Because of Floss:

I feel the need to write again, It’s not important what I pen, But to rewind a tangled mind Onto a reel…

Poetry written from 1960 until Jan 2017

Too Many People

Too many people walking all at once, Pushing-by each other, Too many people walking all at once, Another and another.

Jerusalem

The place is where a requisitioned ass Passed by olives weeping, And seeping sand fell down In cruel heaps, Positioned in short reverence. And I am here, Walking among the debris, Not wishing to be disturbed, As the camera in my mind Clicks on.

Printing

Tracing a slate-strewn skyline, Outlining a soot-soiled shape, Black industrial ugliness, Where a dreamer dreams of escape.

Trapped in a failing factory, As whitewashed as its walls. The hissing of printing-platens, Like metallic waterfalls.

Cracked tiles and charred chimneys, Dominate dirt-streets below, Where I squat on the summer-pavement, Until the hard hooter’s blow.

Making a monotonous living, Mind occupied elsewhere, Germanic machines pulsating, Wiping the window to stare.

Observation

I witnessed an old man Wave at a passing crowd, But they ignored his wave, And I felt rather sad.

He glanced down - embarrassed, I could see that he felt bad. Growing older as I watched him Walk away - head bowed.

Is it Christmas Yet?

Hey! A dead rabbit’s in the road, Squashed, And the road with rabbit’s blood Is awash. No one bothered, Or upset, Except me… Is it Christmas yet?

Hippie

Bled Blood red, My cut head. Factually Dripping drops of verse. I was a bleeding dream’ist, Who preyed on sleeping rhymes. I was an extremist, With a vampire’s curse. Actually, Mad, not fad. Too bad Lad.

Kind, But blind. Misaligned. Consistently My spectacles did rust. I thought I was a socialist, But I got bluer every day! A cycling vocalist, Whose bike got bust. Persistently, Poetry, Let me See.

Cup and Ring

This pub where I sit searching thoughts, Typically English, Belongs to the working-classes …and my spirit flinches.

Coarse language saying - ‘Look at me!’ Vowels littering the floor, Red lights gloating on empty heads That I cannot deplore.

Am I as ‘Them’ and nothing more? The fact is I am worse! Under a spell of ignorance, I cannot break the curse.

Woodbine smoke from callused hands, A glass stained with her lips, Wrinkled eyes, with sallow skin, Old woman sits and sips.

Skylark

One silver skylark, Sings beneath the sun, Sings beneath the sun, In solitude and sunshine, As sky-bound sunbeams run.

Clouds brush his burnt feathers, Then float away, Then float away.

He’s

Singing in suspension, With everything to say.

Glen Stream

Glen gorge-winder Swiftly grows, With peat-platted ribbons Weaving by.

Speaking quickly Dark stream flows, Murmuring over rocks Where dippers fly.

A shallow foaming coldness, A twisting tousled timeless place. I contemplate beside you… Gone to the glen to hide my face.

DTs

I think ‘T’ knew That his proud pen Played with words to spite his eye. He, Dai, Blew Bubbled blood… When he could. He, Dai, Made the breeze blow wet and dry. On inky fen, He breathed black dew.

A soulful sight Down by the sea, Writing “Milkwood” by the shore. Now no more. Right, to leave behind Legacy mind. Shite? Now no more Mad gnawing at his core. Alcohol Put out his light!

Simon - age two

My Son Held a rose in his hand, And I Called his name.

Then I Glimpsed his innocence, And yet I called again!

Walking in the garden Of infancy, Embracing time As a friend.

Speaking without Wisdom, Unwise Do we end?

Simon - age eleven

My Son tends to lounge on the floor! No matter what I say, He ends up prostate… His feet up the flue. What can I do? (It’s one of my traits).

Simon - age thirteen

We make aeroplanes, And talk of B.M.X’s, My Son and I. Thirteen and growing, And laughter showing; He loves me.

We share our thoughts, And make rude jokes, My Son and I. Thirteen and growing, And me not knowing My father.

Snow

The snow that fell in April Took us by surprise, And though it dulled the morning’s breath, It lit my children’s eyes.

Snowdrifts set in by evening, Traffic moved no more, Dead echoes filled a starless night, Stillness stood at the door.

Boots lay on steps, abandoned, Wet clothes deserted lay. I watched fun-footprints disappear, That snow-spring child-chilled day.

Grey Day

Morning sleeps Slush painted grey.

Blankets of ice, Bedeck his thighs.

Sheets of sleet, Sedate his day.

Longed for spring Seems

Long away.

Gwithian

Across a cliff-clung field a purple shawl Extends under a ruby sun. Here upon these Cornish cliffs The twilight has begun To blur the cobalt seas slow rise and fall. Seagulls mock me, Glued to ground, Mobbing and milling above my head. Red sky is pierced, Its blood is earthward shed, As sun and shore infuse with sound, ‘Till, tide-bound, Echoes drift to ebb-away at sea, As day stops striving for a while, With dusk melting each milk-mist mile, And sky-ghosts tire of teasing me, Cape-captive, One alone that stands Above this granite gyve, This sun-bleached sand.

Return

For old time’s sake we returned To where our memories burned… And found it strange?

Sweet stream runs bitter now, Walls broken down, and how Cruelly Arranged!

We walked a remembered lane, Things were not the same again, Had we changed?

Insomnia

The night is hot and in my room, I range across a crumpled bed. Windows wide in airless eve, Street sounds simmer in my head.

Sleep disturbed by daunting dreams, Confused by what is real - it seems I’m angry with myself - but why? I twist upon my bed and sigh.

My wristwatch whimpers –‘It’s not day’, I rise to glare into the street, But nightmares will not trot away, They rear and snort, so I retreat...

To turn my pillow once again, And feel cool linen on my face, Until seared senses softly scream… Ignite into another dream.

SOS

Wrecks lie submerged, Surfacing in dreams, Sunk in adolescence.

I sleep unaware, Fitfully it seems, Then run aground.

Trying to swim, Drowning midst beams, Soul ship-wrecked.

Fears dredged deep, As rip-tide deems, Mind water-logged.

Sheets have formed seas, With seaweed seams. Launch the lifeboat!

Jowett Pond

Beneath the surface of the pond Childhood memories stirred. Bulrushes silken-sepia stood, This place burnt-boys preferred.

I dipped my hand to chase a fish That swam toward my feet, But it escaped beyond my grasp… And yet that move was sweet!

For once again escaped to child I played within a pond. Caught in a whirl of waterweed, Within a childhood bond.

Bolton Abbey

Scents of autumn soak the air As river sweeps through stepping-stones. A wooden bridge beckons us where A heron cracks cold crayfish bones.

Such stillness born on shortened days Finds wishes wished on copper strands Falling as jewels from midst the grey, Pursued in flight by infant hands.

Detached

My sea rolls ever slow today, The sky hangs overcast and grey, And evenings called too soon.

My senses are somewhere afloat, They’re drifting in an oar-less boat, That rides a rising sea.

Salve-sunbeams have all dived and died, This ocean stretches ever wide, Life gently bobs passed me.

My sea rolls ever slow today, The night enfolds a castaway, And suffocates the moon.

Departure

Solace was found in solitude, In the wind, In the spring, In the green. Where a plough sows sky With seagulls,

Alone was seen, With a curlew’s Convivial company, And only Soft sky In-between.

Temple Newsam

Autumn has arrived again, And as before He put his foot Inside the door of summer. Broken branches hurled up high, Where chestnuts cling Midst mist and sky, And other signs... That signal I am older now, That whisper when The rooks’ allow A word in edgeways.

Detached

Gentle evening edges out, The willow rests, His branches bowed, Weary of the sapping sun And I, the noisy crowd.

Rawdon Billing

Loneliness pursued the child, Who wondered where the flowers grew wild.

He played in fields where plovers flew, And where the whispering grasses grew.

Among the ferns he hid his face, As swallows skimmed his hiding place.

He watched the diving-beetle swim, Wild-water would envelop him.

But loneliness pursued the child, And taunted when he sometimes smiled.

Mr Babble the Insurance Man

He spewed out stress from deep within, Contaminating everything, Sweating, shouting, exploding eyes, Gesturing, exuding sighs.

Then calmness would somehow prevail, As bluster became blocked from sail. Until some strain stretched out a nerve, And pulled off course his sense would swerve...

...to strew the alphabet around; A spluttering strangulated sound. Swearing, slighting, angry, annoyed, A pale perplexed, pained, paranoid.

Fog

Fog had erased the Street’s blackboard, Swept of lamp-light by God’s broom, But I lit up the road with my ‘Miller’, Full beaming into the gloom.

I road on unfettered by worries, I biked like a cyclist insane, I followed tyre-tracks back to childhood, And polished the saddle again.

Cutter Grinding

Dodging hot dust for a living, Pretending to be an engineer, Sharpening cutters on the night-shift, Sparks showering my right ear.

Coarse coat stained with hot lubricant, Clean cuts covering soiled hands, A Thermos filled with cool coffee, Gratifies this grinder’s demands.

Across the Works yard to the washroom, I stand in the new night air, Sharpening a seconds silence, Moments that matter are rare!

The canteen is almost deserted, I lie on a table to sleep. Soon a buzzer brings scowling to Solo, Flock back to the Tool room we sheep.

Shrill shouts as a rheumatic finger, Is sliced off to a profane appeal, A splinter of bone is adhering, To a gruesomely grist grinding-wheel.

A dustsheet shrouds the dead ‘Shutte’, Until the Inspector appears, We night-shift grind on in caution, (My father is sharpening his shears).

Mormonism

Words droned on, Members nodded, Service plodded, Heavy heads, Vacant faces, Empty places, On we sat, Bottoms flat, No point in that!

Miscarriage Bingo

8:00pm chimed disappointment And a shock, Birth-time was stranded, One number off a cuckoo-clock!

Tears narrated bitterness, And a shock, One second landed One number off a cuckoo-clock!

Pained proof was too incredulous, And a shock, Sent two minds reeling, One number off a cuckoo-clock!

Lost months unacceptable, And a shock, Three numbed of feeling, One number off a cuckoo-clock!

Grandad

My granddad has a bulbous nose, That’s stuffed with money! Funny? No! And I’ll tell you why it’s not, It’s pitiful pensioner’s snot!

He stuffs it with bread because he’s rich, Cut-sliced brown bread up his snitch, Good grief! Huh! I wish he’d blow his golden nose, Into my spotted handkerchief!

Promotion Prospects

Successes scent has disappeared, Whilst I was chasing in despair, Over the hill.

His footsteps seemed so close, And then, He raced off with some other men.

I thought I sensed him slackening, I reached to somehow grab his coat, But then felt ill.

He flung some worries at my feet, I stopped, Breathless in Stressful Street.

Successes scent has disappeared, I’ll rest and hope he’ll reappear, Perhaps he will.

When I feel fitter and less afraid, I’ll catch him Sleeping in the shade.

Three Sisters’

Above the moor one plane-tree stands, Diseased with dead rheumatic hands. Two sisters died beside her throne, Naked, now she reigns alone.

Stately they ruled that star-crowned hill, Betters of bracken, gorse, And those lower than guardians of the air, Small boys like me, who dwarfed, did stare.

Poetry written in Western Germany:

Deutch TV Documentary

I watch the harrowing scenes of pain, Surviving Jews, their suffering faces, Returning respectfully to places, Where they were tortured and transported.

Was it here where forests fly their golden flags? That corpses lay unnoticed in the street, And mass graves welcomed the unwanted, Whilst evil echoed marching feet?

Was it here where deer dash and lizards lie? That fear was free to be inhuman, And sewers were shelters underground, Whilst gas stilled souls without a sound?

I watch the harrowing scenes of pain, Men lingering where their families fell, Pondering the terrorised truth, Unthinkable, unspeakable, Hell!”

Hydenweg 10

From Russia marched a charcoal sky, It grilled the forest, burning black, As angry angels came to crack Silvered-steel whips.

The grumbling Giant overhead, Trod with such a sombre tread, That all the tears in heaven were shed, In single sobs.

Then he somehow strode away, As blackbirds sang in sniffing sky, And angels dried each glistening eye, With rainbow.

Homesick

I miss the nearness of the sea, To stroll upon its saline shore, To shout as broken breakers roar, Over sand.

I miss the freedom of the moor, To wonder where my spirit wills, To walk the paths and gentle hills, Of England.

Buchenwald

This place is not at peace, Its beauty has been bruised, Withering winter memories, Still fused in every bird-less tree, Moving endlessly.

Snow touches tall pines, As in silvered-days before, But now, sadly it’s falling, As if it’s recalling, How it clung to those being killed, As their suffering was stilled.

Hessich Oldendorf

Forests flush a hundred hills, Where helicopters hurry, Blittering’ where buzzards blow, Blattering’ descending low, Mid blossoms of white cherry.

Hameln

False facades hedge Hameln’s steeple, A town refaced, But not its people.

BFPO 29

They dilute their lives in lager-beer, Loves drowned out here, Among these wire-wooded hills.

Dreams dissipate in tax-free gin, Wives have their fling, Where the Wesser winds around.

Driving

Driving to work Mindlessly, When over the hill, Suddenly! Sun underscores the heavens, Beautifully.

Clouds form damson plums, Endlessly. I glance in the mirror Automatically, Driving to work, Restlessly.

1663

Black-lashed poppies - clumped and crimson, Flames amid the whitening wheat, Burning where sharp shrapnel-showers, Burst from midst the searching heat.

In these fields where cannon clattered, Thousands fell on Hessich hill, Black-lashed poppies clumped and crimson, Black-lashed poppies standing, still.

Wealthy

We have a marble Staircase, Six bedrooms, Parquet floor, But I don’t smile, Like I used to do before.

Minden Road

Night heron, Black-bat like, Flew up from the wet road, Legs trailing.

I drove on, No confidence, To sell insurance Car tailing.

I envied, His nocturnal flight, Somewhere sane, Unfailing.

Return home:

Hospital

I see my fragile father ill, So small, And still refusing help.

He looks so hopeless holding on, All his manly-moments gone, Forever.

I try to touch his tortured mind, But the wretched years unwind, Tangling us.

Stroke

Summoned by love my heart was led, To find her in a sterile bed, Slurred-speech from midst a spittle face, So unaware, with matted hair.

A Stroke her dignity’s defiled, Her mind is battered back to child, She cannot tell why she lies there, I kissed her brow - smiles crooked now.

Tired

I grow weary, Weary of the whir of words, Sing me a lullaby of silence, Let me rest.

Rock me in a cushioned cradle, In some secret sheltered place, Where the World wants for admittance, And smiling down - a mother’s face.

Dad Dream

I saw him from his hospice bed, Slow rises and shuffle to the phone. His gaunt frame clothed in yellow skin, Tightly binding up his bones.

His crooked fingers found the dial, But whilst his hands obeyed his will, His brain could not fulfil his need And all the while real time stood still.

I watched him struggling with that phone, My father, soulful, seeking aid, He did not see me at his side, Nor sensed the gulf was not so wide.

Then we were lifted from that ward, To a familiar woodland-walk, Where deadened was his dragging pain, And I found I was a boy again.

We strolled among the Sunday-trees, Where he expressed his love for me, Something I’d never heard him say, Last words I knew would fade away.

I felt a boy, but was a man, So much I did not understand, And as we walked towards the day, I held on childlike to his hand.

We stopped - I gazed upon his shell, Amazed to see him young and well, I knew I’d waken soon and so, I kissed his face - then let him go.

Rich Man

When he is loved no man is poor, His wealth cannot be measured, Nor his worth be weighed against All the riches of the earth. For love cannot be bought, Grow old, or be caught in nets Woven with threads of purest gold. True love endures when we have gone, Goes on, and on, and on, and on…

Day

Today is a waiting-day, Why? I cannot tell!

So subdued by stars I’ll sit and wait, My head within my shell.

Debt

It seems that we may lose this house, For debt has called to take away What we hold dear.

The cats’ fight for the fireside rug, And music shakes the worm-worn stair, As wolves draw near.

We take each day for what it is, Another step towards the edge, I cannot look.

Somewhere, someone, decides our fate, A dreaded summons come to bring, Me to the Book.

I’ve done all I can think to do, I feel so helpless and afraid, And so ashamed.

The clock ticks on and will not stop, Night laughs at my pathetic rest, My heart is drained.

My faith still breathes, but shallow now, I humbly take what I can get, Or somehow, do without.

Leaving

One of our birds has flown away, He took some love to line his nest, To help him through the winter storms, When warmth shall flee His chosen tree, To set a Survival, Test.

Soon another chick will wing her way, For growth dictates it shall be so, When as their full flight-feathers form, We brood no more, But watch them soar, Keeping hold, By letting Go.

Douglas Dakota C47

From distant hills would drift the sound, A radial-rhythm in the sky, At once I’d know a 47, Was growling down to earth from heaven.

Dakota, dawdling into view, ‘Silver City’, or ‘BKS’, Blue, or red, ‘Air Lingus’ green, Hot-house jolting, joy machine.

I’d watch its strutted wheels come down, Round yellow eyes, full-beam ahead, I’d trace it banking round to where Its flaps would stab into the air.

Rooted beneath the landing-lights, Wide eyed, I’d drink its deep descent, Until it’s shadow swiftly fell free, And rooftop roaring gently shook me.

Then swirl of air... a second’s silence. A skid, a squeal, a rattling rumble. A rev’ of engines, a number jotted. A routine landing, a boy besotted!

Nidd Flier

Iridescent, but blue, I saw him at last! The kingfisher raced by, And screamed as he passed. Down the river he streaked, A colourful crier. Small wonder he shrieked: His rump flamed with fire!

Floss Tired

She rises early, And to her tasks She creeps. Compelled to Work for those She loves, Until the day Is dead, When she Leans her weary Head upon her hand, And sleeps.

To be read at my funeral

How will the gentle-judge judge me? When tentative, I stand afraid, As memories dredge my moat-ringed mind, To float bright-boats of foolish years, When wide horizons filled my thought, And I slayed dragons, fearing naught.

What shame hung out for all to see? What filth? What guilt? What angry shout Will be sung-out to trouble me When deaths sunk opportunity.

Can I but hope that when I’m dead? In mitigation will be read A list of souls whom I did love ...and one containing (hard to see), A few, who, unconditionally, Loved me.

Two am

Why do I still labour With One-thirties ink and paper, Whilst my wife slumbers upstairs? ...who else cares but Floss?

As the World knows not, Then what is the point Of my solitude, And sleeplessness?

Maybe at 2:00am I’ll meet a lone man, And write with him.

Yours faithfully, Peter.

Storm

The Storm has drained his soul today, Stilled and spent he’s blown away, To leave us here in this tall house, Safe from his unsettling cries, To dream of days of setting suns, Where we can rest, spirits to mend, A place to start - a place to end!

Good-bye

If I fade first A vestige of my words I’ll leave, To whisper when you feel alone. I realise that we both shall grieve ...has Hades got a telephone?

Floss

The golden star around her neck, Can never shine as bright as she, Nor fulsome words tarnish the truth, Of Hebrew femininity.

CCU

Warm water in a plastic jug, Feet cold. Wires tugging at the heart of me, Connected to eternity, And a bold, ‘Bleep, bleep’, Keeps me awake.

White-watchers wander In and out, With dedication (and some without!).

A taste of tea soon tinkled up. My curtains have corn (and a buttercup!)…

Apart

When I’m asleep my spirit flies Across the separating skies, With her to stay.

It lingers by her lonely bed, Cradling soft her sleeping head, Until the day.

Then before she starts to rise, It kisses both her lips and eyes, And slips away.

Vanished Vicar

In the Church there’s still singing, But the bells have stopped ringing, For the sake of his shame, And his tarnished name.

For our priest’s disappointed, Defiled whilst anointed, And in this tiny place, It’s a far fall from grace!

My Daughters’

Now they’re loved by other men As well as I, And well I love them still! But why despondent pine? Because my love’s stepped by, And from further down the line Observes the spot That once was mine!

New Nana

She nurses Beth when she’s needed, And tries not to love her too much, Because it’s hard to mother a baby, When a heart can look but not touch.

So she cradles Beth for her mother, The child of her child, born with pain, And I watch my Woman giving birth, Again and again and again.

Beth - age one

She shouts a lot This little tot, And points, and grins Six pain-cut teeth. And ‘though the gods’ Translate her speech, In truth I can’t discern A word, And so I stow Each Jibber-jab, And kiss her head. Just thankful that She talks to me, Before she Goes to bed.

Jaque a Mate

My friend is black! Try as he may, He cannot Put the game away.

I cannot change His coloured cast. Promote his pawn, Or re-play his Detroit past.

My friend is black! All moves for him Are indigo ...and white-men win.

Beth age one - and a bit!

An angel made an entrance ...appearing suddenly! She simply stood Beside my bed: Fair hair, fair skin, Halo crowned head, And beamed a smile at me!

I bathed in her bright beauty, Hypnotised, sleep fled. She smiled again, Her eyes alight, Then her first words Fogged fast my sight: “Gran-dan, Gran-dan,” she said.

A Song for Floss

When my hopes are as flotsam And drift on the tide, You walk at high-water And gather my pride. And I’ll love you as long as The surf runs to sand. Life only has reason When you understand.

Chorus Time cannot harm you, It stands in disgrace. The shadows flee quickly, The stars light your face. For angels stand round you When darkness draws near. Let dawn find you dreaming There’s nothing to fear.

You fight when surrender Is what I would do. Then pretend to believe it When you know it’s not true. And I’ll love you forever Until dreams have all died, That’s never my darling With you by my side.

You stay when luck wonders, To chance it with me. You weep when I’m wounded, And watch tenderly. And I’ll love you forever, My wife and my friend. For life is eternal, And love has no end.

When Petals Fall

When petals fall And land Wasted upon the ground, No hand Can be found To make anew What once so forceful grew.

No words can recall A single released spear, Or restore one tear And make again all right.

When petals fall We grieve For what can bloom no-more, And leave As sure is sure, With sad regret, The flowers we can’t forget.

Dark-eyed Girl

I dreamt that when the world was wide, Arms folded, on the wild moor-side, There stood a girl with raven hair, Who denim-dressed, seemed full of care.

Her gaze was fixed somewhere afar, Her beauty, like her hair, unbound, I wondered what engaged her so, As anxiously she held her ground.

Her face was pallid, eyes were dark, She seemed pre-occupied in thought, Then suddenly she looked behind, As if a distant fear was caught.

Set free by hope she turned once more, Searching skyline for a sign Of someone longed for, meeting there, A dark-eyed girl with raven hair.

‘PC’

Now it appears (a girl tells me), She’s not a ‘Houseman’ Anymore, But something called An ‘H and O’.

And so tradition’s Had to go, Because some shit Said all must be, Politically, Bloody C!

Trumpton!

I’m here once more ...in pain, chest tight. Scribbling lines at half-past three (not wanting all this fuss for me) And in the gloom Across the room, Some mindless Mick from Donegal, Is lyrically farting at the wall!

Another Miscarriage

What once lived, And nevermore can be, Brought tears to Adele, My son, The one I love, ...and me.

This Christmas

May we know joy, As bells ring out. Let all men shout Glad-tidings from afar. May hearts be still, And worries wait. Let thoughts migrate To loved-ones and a star. May we have hope, As tears are shed. Let love be led, To salve each sinful scar. May doubt stand still, As faith is shod, Let’s thank our god For breaking prison-bars. May we find peace, And fools forgive, Let’s learn to live Together as we are.

Now

‘Now’ is the time to do that ‘Thing’, To learn that song you’ve meant to sing A thousand times - but would forget, Or remembering, say: “Not yet - not yet.”

‘Now’ is the time to act that ‘Play’, To speak those lines you’ve meant to say With confidence - but would stay hushed, Or entering, say: “I’m rushed - I’m rushed.”

‘Now’ is a word, when understood, Will do more than ten Dreamers could With best intent - but they sleep on, Or in waking, say: “The moments gone...”

Simon - aged twenty-five

Hey! Our Son’s twenty-five, And to his shocked surprise, (we’re glad to say!) He’s still alive And kicking!

Child’s Pond

There is a Pond in the garden, It’s small, And not at all Ostentatious.

There are some fish in the water. They swim About within, Surprisingly!

There is a wall to lean upon And stare, When time is there To watch the fun.

There are those who when looking in, Grin at The pond, while fish Act capriciously.

There are some that point at a fish And say: “Hey! Look at the Size of that one!”

There is a man who tends the fish, It’s me! And I too like the pond, Not so amazingly.

My Valentine

A bright spring morn: Thy face to see. An autumn night: Thy mystery.

A winter fire: Thy soft warm smile. Enchanted stars: Thine eyes, beguile.

My heart I give For thee to keep. What need I more? Let seasons sleep!

Eternal is My summertime. For thee I love, My valentine.

Once Upon A Time

There was a time when ‘Things’ was good, When ‘They’ acted as ‘They’ should, But now ‘They’ acts just as ‘They’ would, Before the rain, before the flood.

There was an age when ‘Time’ moved slow. When ‘Progress’ knew which way to go, But ‘Now’ with ‘They’, rush to-and-fro, Confused by ‘What’? ‘They’ does not know!

There was a day when ‘What’ was ‘What’, ‘We’ thought of ‘How’ - but ‘Then’ forgot. By ‘Now’, ‘We’ should have learned a lot, “We have,” say ‘Some’ - well, ‘I’ think not!

The One Who Walked the Pathway

The one who walked the pathway stopped, The wind that moved the twilight dropped, So silent in the way.

The one who walked the pathway saw, The valley that he’d trod before, Was waking with new day.

The one who walked the pathway knelt, The grass beneath his feet he felt Was withering away.

The one who walked the pathway knew, The laws of nature would ensue He could no longer stay.

The one who walked the pathway stood, He saw beyond, a child - his blood, Mesmerised in play.

The one who walked the pathway blushed, He knew new growth could not be crushed, And went upon his way.

Willow herb

The August flowers of willow herb Have died beneath the head. Magenta spears, Will summer’s tears So soon be likewise shed?

Be shed, yet rise when autumn’s call Is wind-born by the weir. When silvered threads, From willow beds, Fly faster every year.

Simon’s Travail

He was very angry, And afraid. I could see within his eyes, The rage at hard circumstance, He’d made. I allowed his rage to turn Its savage flame on me, Then watched it die away, And quietly let him be.

Back in control He left to give support, To she whom all his love, Once upon a time, had caught. Who, in protracted childbirth, Needed what faith he had, When he, in his frustration, Needed to bite his dad!

Old Eyes

We are older now (our grandchildren are reminders), Will they weep again the wasted tears Sad-shed we’ve put behind us?

Will they stand upright the quicker, If left crying after falling? Or have all content can need If envy’s ignored calling?

Will their musing souls know better Than think evil of an other? That some smiles are far more valuable Than gold-digging might discover?

Will they consider wrong is right And like some fools forget That hatred is a savage dog But affection they can pet?

Will they become as atheists when They’ve rationalised their minds. Or in a street of ruined faith, A house of heaven find?

Perhaps in time they’ll know as I When night is creeping nearer, That even though the light is dim Their eyes can see much clearer!

20-03-96

Simon – ageless

He butts the wall And like me, once, He acts as if He doesn’t care at all.

He rants and raves, His love upon the shelf. Yet who is he, But a foe unto himself.

He cannot lie, Reacting as a bull, But who’s to say what Price his honesty must pay.

She watches lost, And with his son, afraid, What cost a tune, a lyric, Midnight made.

She runs away, He too escapes the hour, Then they return, To gather up the flower.

When petals fall, And lay wasted on’ the ground, What fool can say: Mad music has no sound.

Dead D J

They rise to flutter in the sun, To astonish everyone. Dodging dragons in the sky. Seeking pollen, Seen on high As stained glass windows passing by.

With friends around the lawn they dance, Upon a breeze of circumstance. Then settle soft with open wings. Absorbing heat, Reflecting light, Until comes coolness of the night.

Tis then they contemplate alone, The emptiness of garden grown, With dreams dreamt worthless. Without wind. Then as we cry, Away they fly...

04-05-96

“Darrrrrd!”

In fear They rely on me, To be near And I Must respond.

Yet if they knew My fright, They might, Stop, And think Again.

24-05-96

Mister Mclaughton

After apologising for his row He continued with it Anyhow: A repetitive sound, A shake of his bed, A PERSON! A PERSON! With a crab in his head.

The man in great pain, The oxygen mask. Again, And again, And again He did ask, For someone to come, For someone to come, For someone to come, And be kind. Anyone…

4-07-96

Little Big Man

Little Big Man’s come to play, And the cloudy sky has gone away. These blessings bright: Liam, Bob, and Beth. Those, That when I’m close to death And morphine is no use to me, I picture, In my agony.

‘B’ My Fairy!

She rides astride a unicorn, With silver hooves, And golden horn, Gliding through the magic glade, Among the rays of dawn.

Upon a toadstool in the wood, She sits - as any fairy should, And smiles at pixies as they play, Shooing every elf away, They say...

I see her, with enchanted eyes, Transfix a goblin in surprise, Then off with air-born seed she flies, Chasing purple dragonflies Across the lawn.

Perhaps, one day you’ll see her too, Maybe, she’ll blow her dust at you, And laugh, at every ‘atish-oo! ’, Before she flutters into blue, And flies away...

Ever

There is no dawn without you, No light to find my way, No sun to warm my wintry heart And melt the frost away.

Pointless, the hours pass slowly, And would, my heart explain, That it cannot begin to beat Until we kiss again.

I love you senseless, And so deep, Should ‘ever’ be a lie! My love will build a place for us, Where time will pass us by.

13-09-96

Lot 50

At times I feel a stranger here, An odd detachment From this mad sale-room of mankind. I hear a distant Melancholy memory Tapping soft upon my mind.

A faithful face watches me From far outside my head. Now forgotten, a once familiar friend, Reminding me today, As I take up my makeshift bed, Where tomorrow I must end.

When my heart is beating strong, Faith is hushed, and taps unsure, But my strength faltering, Remembrance does not wait too long Before penetrating perception, And with insistence, halters my rushed existence.

They say some call-answering souls, Shown all, return changed! Speaking of angels, Passages of light, And of meeting friends, dressed In dazzling white garments!

But mostly, I forget faiths small bid, Until like thunder comes Ghostly tapping upon the wall, Reminding me, but clay, That sold to faith’s my lot today.

24-10-96

The Kids

A few crumbs on the carpet, A small price to pay, For such a Wondrous blessing, As they.

04-11-96

As if?

Don’t worry if one tearful day You have to travel far away, For time will stop, And you will find, Dark fears that haunt Your troubled mind, Will vanish in the evening sky, And in the twinkling of an eye, We’ll be together, You and I.

In Search of Flowers

Sometimes I seek with tear-torn eyes What sight cannot reveal, Or senses recognise! Hearing blooms, That sing to me whilst sleeping! Sad sounds in moonlit madness, Vermilion vehement gladness, Or cruel clambering commotion. Open oysters that glisten! Causing me to wander, And oft times - My gaze somewhere afar, To marvel at sharp stars, and listen! Sometimes, enveloped by my emotion, I step carelessly, Falling upon feathers: Plucked plumes, that so flightless lay My stuttering lips could never say What scent would rise from rose-winged words? Or my muse-mind begin to realise what beauty, What fragrant birds so sweet Lie crushed beneath my clumsy feet. Then, stumbling higher up the hill, To a cloud-caught morning, still, A certain sleeping-sickness met, Makes my perception, time, forget. Sometimes, far distant I perceive A fond face softly smiling, That in the half-light empties hours, When I’m lost among the fractured flowers, Comes reconciling fear with faith. Searching till she finds me safe, As I wander out of sight. Who finds me on the haunted hill, Lost far beyond the daffodil, And to her heart takes me again, Where poets need no path explain. Forsaken Floss, left to atone, Whilst I step sleepless, and alone! 4-12-96

The Whale’s Song

The whale’s song is a shoal song, Well known to fishes free. The whale’s song is a sound song, When he dives beneath the sea.

The whale’s song is a surf song, And swells within the tide. The whale’s song is a still song, Where the red seahorses’ ride.

The whale’s song is a sweet song, Off cape, in coral bay. The whale’s song is a sleep song, That haunts the dying day.

The whale’s song is a sad song, When lonely he does roam. The whale’s song is a star song, And guides the herd less home.

The whale’s song is a soul song, And never must be said: The whale’s song is a sung song, When hunted, all are dead!

Shared Computer

She sits upon my knee, And joy-jiggles, Squashing my soft places. She sits upon my knee, And mouse-squiggles, Sketching silly faces. She sits upon my knee, And glee-giggles, Trashing treasured filing. She sits upon my knee, And worm-wriggles, Scented sweet, and smiling, She sits upon my knee, And Miss Tiggles, Babbles between breathing. She sits upon my knee, And it niggles ‘Gangan’, when Beth’s leaving!

Gritter

A gritter growls at 4:00am, Along the sleep set street. Its progress prompts reality, My dreaming incomplete.

I try to keep my senses hushed, But one thinks otherwise! And as another truck toils by, Sight whispers to my eyes.

Long still I lie, lest she should wake, Err darkness dares to dress. Sleep deep my love, Sleep deep and rest, The night grows less and less...

Childless Christmas

X Mass, And The Star That stood Upon nativity; Having shone itself away, Christmas dawned without starlight, And no seraphs sprang from silvered sleep to Play. No angels pounced On piled-up Present places, Or cherubs flew about the room with fire-flushed Excited faces, Tearing tissue in their half-dressed giddy glee. Kids grown and gone away with theirs! No bashed batteries bested, Or red wrapping wrested beneath the tumbling Tree. Christmas dawned simply silently, And nothing moved much at all. Or fanned the fires dim ember ring to warm We two: My love and I, who sat quietly. No fruit was wasted. No mess, Or half a chocolate tasted. Just she And me, Remembering.

29-12-96

January

Monochrome, the moor’s set bright, A magpie flies drift buttressed wall, Feathers seasonal in flight, All black and white, All black and white.

Above - the sun peeps from pearl home, Below - six crows to silence call, Hopping high on something dead, All brown and red, All brown and red.

The ridge road sinks to lower roam, Beyond the snow-drift sculptured hall, As sky sets into different hues, All pinks and blues, All pinks and blues.

The earth a bowl, the sky a dome, Within, we on our homeward haul, And sunset seeps, as sunset should, All bronze and blood, All bronze and blood.

04-01-97

Jackdaws

It pleases me to see January Jackdaws

Paired with such an Admirable adhesion.

Right now - across the way, Two bonded birds sit still,

Contentment shared, Looking southward,

For some particular reason. Soul-mate silhouettes

Against a glacial grey, Perching peaceably.

09-01-97

My Heart

I thought my heart was soft, But they said ‘No!’ Mine neither begs, nor bleeds, But tough and tight it regulates my pink. And when I think I have a heavy heart, It’s naught but gloom in soulful guise. Those rational and wise, They told me so!

I thought my heart was glad, But they said ‘No!’ Mine neither leaps, nor loves, But shoves corpuscles to my mind. And what I find to be a joyful heart, Is naught but rapture wrapped in words. Those rational and wise, They let me know!

I thought my heart was full, But they said ‘No!’ Mine neither brims, nor bursts, But beats away without a will, And what I bill as hurt or broken heart, Is naught but muscle crying out. Those rational and wise, Say that - no doubt.

12-01-97

Beth’s Tree

Beth’s tree sports sizeable stickers. Secretly she’s stuck them there To make me laugh! They do! And each time I see the tree I smile wistfully, And try not to dwell upon the thought, Beth would not be she, Lest for my anguished kiss of fear, And the sudden gasp she caught In her heart-stopping history.

16-01-97

Peter on Parade

On parade at Pirbright, Supposed to be making the grade. No time - no sleep - no pity, Where rows of red robots are made.

Hands blistered, belt blancoed, boots bloodied, Shrill shouts of: “TWO THREE ONE!” A beating for nothing, then lights-out, When a dancing day is done.

So stupid are we conscripts, So clever every toff. Where urine hits pristine porcelain, Boots pickling in the trough.

Reduced by threat and trauma, Programmed to jump when called, I stop my spirit breaking, By keeping my mind installed.

“So you want to leave the Army!” “Can’t take it!?” said, the CC, Enigmatic, I smiled at the android, He knew that I was still me...

27-03-97

Valentine 97

There is a chain between our hearts That time has proved with tears. Each golden link of happiness Not stressed by painful years. And though some souls are pulled apart And dulled, no longer shine. My love remains untarnished, Forever, Valentine.

14-02-97

Faith Fairies

Faith fairies fill a fire-side spot, That heaven did perhaps allot. And by the flame of ingle-nook, They sit, they stand, they pose, they look, With wings that glitter in the light. Small maidens made of magic clay, Who, when the night grows dark and still, Begin to wake and fly about, Until morning brings an end to play, And we can say - We think we’re sure?! These angels in another guise, Have strayed from where they stood before!

19-03-97

Lapwing

Lapwing, Lapwing, Tumbling, turning, Swooping, sailing, The bracken burning.

Diving, twisting, Swept back wings. Displaying, dashing, The stunt-bird flings.

Dropping down, Then speeding high, Climbing, stalling, In wind-wild sky.

Inverted dart, A flip, it falls! At once to rise With ‘pew-it’ calls!

19-03-97

Box

When I am gone will my words die? And lie unread, my voice a memory, My farrago features incomplete, Some pieces worn away, By rain that fell Since yesterday?

Or shall some soul in delving thought, By chance unearth this dusty tome, And fit, in some dead reading-room These puzzle words, And picture me, And thus ensure my tiny place In jigsaw history.

26-04-1997

Freedom

God had been good! We were free! Free from our debts. And no one To face us Or chase us With threats.

26-04-1997

Whitby

We went to Whitby, In the cold. The harbour was mud, And yet was gold! Beyond jet stones, So black, so old, Brown waves soap-sudded, And bubbling bold!

26-04-1997

Sanctuary

Because across the curtained way someone was breathing blood, she came amid verbose commotion, spoke my first name, and fussed with my sad sheets - the hunchback nurse, pushing her sunken head at me as I lay close to sleep and feeling better. She, whom with straight grace shouldered her curse beneath a smiling face.

Other staff busied best to save, best as any mortals could, Expressions grey, some gowns a faded ghostly green, Sharp needles, absurd paper-hats, tissue perforation, Hurried ‘do-this, do-that’s’ in dire desperation, And in-between big words, small looks of loss, Young dogs, old fears, bravely understood!

Soon it grew still. Practised hands stopped ministering with haste. Beneath the white-windowsill the brow-battering beeping must have quit – but I never noticed it! Now, no one rushed. Not much sound – lost fox gone to ground! Noses earthbound, all but two young pups wondered away some place to rest.

A nervous laugh! Hot water. Disinfectant. Nothing drastic. A soft call! Plastic gloves, plastic aprons. A request. More elastic efficiency!

Later, awakening upon my cot-like bed, behind my dream-soaked head I heard passing wheels and rattling coffin tin, and remembered the hunchback’s soft, yet smothering smile.

A child! I’d been taken-in! Tricked by a magic motherly action. Diverted by a dedicated death-distraction.

05-04-1997

Tea

Tea, Like beer, Should be supped, Not sipped. Is that clear!

14-05-97

Fissure

A deep depression Slits my soul Now we must be apart, A canyon deep! Where here below An eagle eats my heart. And deeper still From off the hunters nook, My angry wound Drips rapid red, To foul Eroded brook. A sink of sorrow. Blood-loss to wend. Cliffs sheer, too steep For me, or any man Wept-weak, Alone ascend. So, down, I gaze above, Through haze Of parted-pain, Watchful for my Longed-for love, To make me whole again.

20-05-97

Phantom

Gone stiff, He lay placed on a wall, As if the blood on his face Was a little disgrace. Put high above Like a toy, Or lost glove, One of some worth, Fallen to earth.

Poor Phantom Was dead! A cat Of loved fame, Killed by a car Whilst out in The dark Being true to His name.

12-06-97

Painful Poetry:

Since the biopsy result I struggle to write, To think, And I want to fight Whoever offends me.

For Floss’s sake I try to be strong, But my courage is a thief, And in secret robs my Soul of sobs.

She, harassed in the street, Finds some are sympathetic, Others sweet, Embarrassed, Kind, or curiously cruel.

The word ‘cancer’ She rarely mentions, But it stands poised upon her lips, Occasionally leaping out To terrify.

Such deep anxiety, Each day multiplying, And I deafened by a dreadful fear, Whispering, that my lovely girl May be already dying.

23-07-96

They ask me How she is, I say: “courageous”, But she is more Than brave.

One breast is gone, All that is to be seen Is a grave wound, A tube of blood, And a dressing.

What is depressing Is that she still smiles At life with love, Her beautiful crown Cropped.

Tonight I stopped Beside the road And wept again, How can I explain How I feel?

I realise life does not Conspire to chance, Yet at times it seems So unfair for such as She to suffer.

I want to go And make it right, But how can I? With no-one to fight But circumstance.

The mastectomy over, Now there’s nothing We can do But wait to discover If the cancer Has further spread.

During her hospital stay Floss was heroic, Each day Confounding Those who expected A slow recovery.

Up and active, Attractive, As only She can be. Her chest draining, Never complaining.

At home the ‘phone Brings both comfort, And stress: Some talk, Some listen, Others digress.

Me? I still find Myself getting riled, Impotent, Unable to change a thing. My lovely girl Defiled.

Periodically Her tissue fills with fluid. A blank mound appears, A mock breast, To wrest at Her wound. A needle is inserted, Her tissue aspirated, And without complaint She sits calm... Whilst others who watch Feel faint.

Tears welled up From her heart, Were drained At her lips, Then leaked away In heavy drips.

She sobbed all night, Kept saying ‘I’m sorry’. I said that it was Alright, Alright to cry, And put her to bed.

Yet all was wrong, Tears could not dry, Knowing tomorrow She would remain In sorrow… ...and so would I.

1-11-96

Making love was easy. We worried about it Needlessly. So rare To share desire Beside the fire. Me the clumsy Being careful lover, Whose gentle caress Did uncover One problem less, And some tenderness.

8-11-96

I write by candlelight, A power-cut at night, Not long after Floss rang around The awful news: ‘Twenty percent!’ A Spanish Registrar’s Survival views.

This doctor took her judgement out, And read as if Floss Was already dead. ‘No doubt Meaning well. I lied to Floss, later, A sudden Spaniard hater.

We requested the main-man come. He rushed to placate, To communicate In our distress. To mop up The bloody thoughtless mess She’d made of it.

14-11-96

Trying to paint fingernails, Holding her trembling hand, Attempting to get it right.

Then I began weeping. What a fool! I couldn’t see clearly.

My sight dulled by tears. Nearly made a mess of it! Pink varnish like glue.

What a time to start crying, My grief in the red, Emotion askew.

Taking forever, My fat fingers shaking, My self-control breaking.

11-11-96

One day at a time, Because that’s the best way, Let’s laugh at tomorrow, Smile still for today!

One day at a time, Together we’ll share it, Where hope has been hid, Our love will declare it.

One day at a time, Shut out your concern, You’re safe in the present, The past can’t return.

One day at a time, No worries, no fear, Soon we will discover, Another good year!

She knows the truth, Yet like Ruth, Continues to glean some hope, Rather than mope About the wheat field Looking glum, And depressing everyone.

We got drunk! A good idea - at first, But soon we were both Worse for wear, And crashed out.

I woke up cold. Floss was well gone, To anyone! 1:00am! Best in bed.

I tried to put my head together, And get organised. I should have realised That I was too Bloody leg-less.

Somehow I got Floss upstairs, And we both fell to the bedroom floor. Poor girl, what was I doing Allowing this To happen?

Well stupid, I couldn’t lift her To her feet, And in drunken frustration We both began to cry.

I pleaded with her to stand, She did, Swaying, And I kept saying: ‘Sorry’.

We climbed among the silly sheets, And hugged each other, uncontrollably. Well pissed past midnight, Sobbing off to sleep, She and me.

She shortened her style And in bald anticipation! Whilst wearing An NHS wig, Prepared to face the world, Saying all the while that she Didn’t give a fig. What a lie!

Then, later, Her brain Splitting, Bare headed, She anxiously Faced me. I said that she looked Eighteen - which she did!

What a Woman, What a Lovely girl. Never quitting, Making the best of An irregular fitting, And getting on with it.

The nurse seemed nice, But somewhat syrupy. Cheerfully Offering advice, Platitudes, Attitudes, And a session Of painful Chemotherapy.

Floss sat patiently, Merrily chatting away, As if this was Just another day.

So now Floss is Full of chemicals. Some pink, Some red, Some saucier, And some greenish gear, To try and Prevent The Nausea.

20-11-96

And I made a meal, Because we Hadn’t eaten. It was not much, But such as it was, It was warm.

Floss ate well! I was pleased About that, And she could tell By the way I kept smiling.

Then she was Suddenly ill, Sick in the sink, And tried to hide Her shame Behind her hand.

I said: ‘don’t hide, It’s okay!’ But her dismay Turned to tears, And took some time to Drain away.

27-11-96

At 3:00am the bed-side phone Reminded us we weren’t alone: Abigail had gotten sick, And I was needed, quick, quick, quick!

Returning to a kept-warm bed, Beside my love I put my head. All I had done was re-assure, Sponging, to lower temperature.

Floss was pleased that all was fine, She lit a cig’ - a pipe was mine. We fogged the room, and laughed a lot, The hour - the C - a while forgot.

Then Floss said, that she had a yen! For bacon, egg - not soon - but then! We had run-out - but soup seemed right, So off I bummed, into the night.

Soon soup was hot, and I’d gone cold, But I cared not, behold, behold! The soup was right! - receding fast! My love was eating - at last, at last!

30-11-96

A gritter growls at 4:00am Along the sleep-set street’ Its progress prompts reality, My dreaming incomplete.

I try to keep my senses hushed, But one thinks otherwise, And as another truck toils by, Sight whispers to my eyes.

Long still I lie, lest she should wake, Err darkness dares to dress. Sleep deep my love, sleep deep And rest - the night grows less and less...

11-12-96

Whilst chatting I shaved off her hair, What remained of it! Yet both were aware, That my articulate action, Was but a doubtful distraction, For our silent despair.

22-12-96

I found her unwell, Soul-sick in the evening hours. Not self-pitying, Or swamped by her surging swell of sorrow, But haemorrhaging tears of depression. Stuck with this thing, And in the gathering gloom, Realising.

07-01-97

She picked a fight! In time, I thought she might.

Testing me, To see If I l loved her still.

Trying to make it easy For me to walk away, Should one-day I find her gone.

Such a sad deception, My temper almost shredding, Before I cottoned on.

31-01-97

She sleeps now, And I allow myself some selfish tears, Just for a while!

A pointless act, Done in secret.

No-one hears, Or can see my melancholy madness.

Pondering my painful, My lonely, My stupid, my hopeless sadness.

19-03-97

And so she’s decided To be not so lop-sided, But to lose her last breast. For the best, For the best!

And I said ‘no pain’, But there is! And I promised alone That she would never be, Yet met by much necessity I now realise That I cannot always Remain close by.

Such clean sentiments, Soon soiled with black reality, And upon their Washing-day Clothes-line practicality, High hanging around In the rain, Refusing to dry.

Now She has shingles, And from a small white jar I spread Pink calamine cream Around her Raw magenta wound!

Then, In short respite she sleeps, Lost in drugged dreams, Tablet tranquillised, Slumbering so still That I sometimes rise in fear And stare at her face.

She, Escaped to sleep, At rest across the room, Yet wondering far away, Distant in her dream dismay, Too remote for my searching sighs To bring her back to me.

She, Who knows too well, when waking, That cruel reality, Like I, Will ever be nearby, Still watching, Still waiting.

19-06-97

The bruised sight Of her suffering And pain, Offends me, Again, and again, When with shoulders Racked round, She waits Vainly to mend, Whilst I stare At the ground, Feeling useless. Some friend! ! 27-06-97

And so we were told Why the wound had not healed, What plucked flesh revealed. She, shaking with fear, Me, my hope insincere. The cancer was strong, The day had moved on, Bright dreams were all swept, Black darkness had crept.

Floss left the sad room, I stayed to talk on, My tears hit bare floor, And I left insecure, To prepare our hearts parting, Prognosis pain smarting: ‘A few months, or so”. But who is to know When love will let go?

14-07-97

Emaciated, she wakes. Confused, In pain, And sore, Her limbs jerking for more morphine. Convinced that today She must attend a funeral, But whose she does not know. I try not to let it show that I perceive, And hide my grief behind A patronising smile, While struggling upright, She perspires, And strokes her weeping wound, Her eyes pleading for some sanity, Her damp hair dishevelled, In this dishonest, Partite, Profanity.

18-07-97

Thistles stand tall, And all the grasses too. A path between lets me walk with care, To where flat river, Black, Sets me wandering back, To hide my tears, And care for her, Who, One more time Smiles in her pain, Then drifts to sleep, As once again I weep.

20-07-97

And now she’s gone, And I must go on, Alone! All about, late summer, Dry. Another autumn nears, And I must put each foot behind the last.

All is memory, All is in the past. What dreams Might lie ahead I neither see, Or without her smile, Might wish to come to be.

The earth below, Beneath Beth’s tree, Where waters watch, And flowers hang heavily, Holds ashes sweet, And besides my lovely girl, The greater part of me!

16-08-97

The Follower

Loneliness lies long, And sleeps within my bed. She wakes chilled, Beside my haunted head.

Loneliness she waits, And sits beside my feet, With eyes black, Upon a pallid sheet.

Loneliness she walks, And follows at my heel, Should I try to rest, Her silent stare I feel.

Loneliness is dumb, Nor hears what I might say, But watches me, And will not go away…

27-08-97

Gone temporarily insane:

Spider

Black Spider Sits upon White wall, Passing moments by. Look at the thing! Big or WHAT! Let us note the very spot, Lest it should trot Our way!

Black Spider Seems about To crawl, Waiting for a fly. Shall we squash it With a SWAT? No, perhaps we’d better not, Lest a big blot Should stay!

29-08-97

Assignation 1

A journey new! One that’s meant to be! Come, take my hand and run with me Along a better way. For all has changed, Time taps and cannot stay, Nor fear allay what must be done. Nor dawning sun stand still within the sky. The crossroad lies somewhere behind. So, for a while You’ll find this pathway strange, And fast the pace, But when at last We stop to take our place Where fate would have us be, I’ll reach and touch your face, And make you smile! Then safe within my heart, You’ll rest, And give your love to me!

Lenor

Let me swim within your eyes, Mesmerised to drowning. Let me gaze across the gulf of knowing, To where your wildest waves begin, With tempest passion, No shallow frowning, Or sorrow showing.

Let me hold your olive eyes, As softly you are smiling. Let me show what depths I feel, In far fathoms of my seeing, As tide turns, And love – real, Rushes into being.

J B’s Island

Fuelled full by fate, Sent forth by love, My carpet, Magic, above confusion.

She sees it stay, In disbelief, My carpet. A brief Illusion.

Floats!

Then down it drifts, In gentle glide, My carpet. Magic, hers to ride.

One foot she fains Upon its pile. My carpet, Magic

Floats awhile.

Land? Never… Magic, Real?

Not ever…

Pain Insane

I’m escaping grief in freedom! Running around unbound. No wreath, No fence of memories to restrain me. Mute pain, Is all I have to explain my foolish actions. My head full of songs silly, And other daft distractions. Unable to look up, down, or back. Enduring a serious, Fate fatal, Fast forward, Fool foray, Nutty, Heart attack.

Hat

Her hat sits in the window of a Charity shop. I had to stop and stand there, Remembering how she made it, Imagining its funny fit, And the winsome way she looked, Whilst wearing it.

This and that:

IRA

Without a shout about the drought, Dead swallows fill the sky, Because they cross across the floss, Whilst angels ask them, why?

1971

Gulf

The drummer beats, And to his steady drumming, A vanquished army breaks the battlefield, Full-fallen, face – mortification. Rug-ragged - man - so unaware, A victory that once so sweetly sampled, Turned bitter In the burning acrid air. Obscured in blaze of billowing badness, The sun above burns in a clean blue day, Below in mire and money madness, Long lines of men, who captured, have to pay. The drummer beats and to his steady drumming, Stars glitter, somewhere out of reach, Tides rise, and swift, send oceans running, A child is walking on the beach...

Tree I know a tired tree, Ready to be rooted out without ceremony. Once, it grew tall and true, Looking for the light, A sapling, Green, and new, And right. Now hushed in yellow hue, It bears no fine-fruit, Or blossom, Blushed and blue, Made mute, Stripped of its shield of bark, Watching for the woodsman’s axe, Naked in the park.

Cole Porter’s Gone Sick, Song! Intro: Lies can be white as winter, Or soiled as sooty night. Deception sewn in selfishness, Lies said to make things right. But the blush that came upon your Cheek when last you spoke my name, Made me realise you’d been lying, So let your heart explain, And I’ll listen once again… . We’re cooling conversation, Saying silly things, When upon our lips the warmest words, Are grounded without wings. Repeating stupid phrases, Saying, nothing real, Stating what is obvious, Not saying how we feel. You say to me, you’re happy, I nod, and don’t believe it. You smile at me, but deep within, Your sad eyes don’t reveal it. We’re cooling conversation, As if our words make sense, Cutting into silence, With every sinew tense. Me asking, “How is everything?” You saying, “All is fine”, Then blinking as you look at me Another lying line! You understand I love you, And you, your love is mine, Let’s be honest with each other, Stop being asinine. We’re cooling conversation, Every time we meet, A distance kept between us, Half strangers in the street, But cold and tired of chatter, Time will not stand for long, Be truthful in the morning , Let evening find us gone.

3-09 Lock There is a key That fits the lock Eternity, And when we kiss, You will be free! You will see, You will see.

Extraordinary doggerel! Strange word ‘Strange’, Often said in a strange way. “Strange?” We say in dismay, Then we walk away, Strangely puzzled, Scratching the head. A locution to thoughtless mutter, That tastes like marge, Not butter upon dry bread! ‘Odd’, ‘unusual’, ‘bizarre’, Or even, ‘funny-peculiar’ They spread much better! As a rule-ier. Wouldn’t you say? If only mutt ‘strange’ was muzzled, And put in its proper mad slot, Or chased away by a cat! But that would be, ‘Outside reason’. ‘Wondrous’, And perhaps maybe, ‘foreign’, But it’s never, never, not! Strange that, What?

. Crazy I lost my head, But I didn’t realise that it was missing! I think I misplaced it Whilst Floss was leaving! Where had it been? What had it seen? Before Nadine caught it rolling along Deep in thought and grieving. When I asked my head to explain, All it said was: “Hello, Pete, I’m back again!

” Poetry written in Greece:

KOS Warm raisin air, And everywhere is heat! Brainy-bugs that stare, Moped buzzing In bar-street. Tiles cooling skin, Cicada,’ ticking-off hot trees. Stillness, set moon, one star, Then sand, white sun, And breeze. Retsina, dance music, And Ouzo into dawn. Stiff sheets, wall sounds, Brown man watering Brush lawn. Palm trees, Black olives, Dry hens, cows, And trumpet flowers Of fragrant flaming red. Green frog, Pool, blue. In path-side tree, suspended, A rotting goat, Hangs accidently dead!

Eclipse in Greece Mad moon shines upside down tonight, Ellipse eclipsed, Not bright. Compressed in pewter-grey, Dark-dressed with smoky-brown, And soft it’s turned about. A candle-lit balloon, High-held aloft, But without string. Only half reflective. A wild-mushroom, New, buttoning the sky. A doughnut thing, Absorbing every hue. In 3D perspective!

Lardy Birds Lard-larks Are learning how to sing, Each trill incomplete, But sweet! The swallows show A varied wing, Each a crescent dart, Apart. Quick crows wear vests Of graphite-grey, Each sounds alike Today. Same sparrows drink The pool and play, And me? I fly away!

Mountain Mount flint-flake fills Horizon haze. Sand-set pumice, Bite-peaks, bare, Jagged, slashing into sky, Above dark Cyprus trees, And dry. Reed-field, Citrus, Peppers, Dust, Blunt-bees, Hypocrites, A silver sun, And everyone asleep!

Legs I’m fitted with the wrong legs! A pair of peculiar pegs. That’s why I trip, And slip, And stumble. It’s no use for me to grumble, Or to lie upon the ground And mumble That I don’t look neat. I must get up, And stand upon These two Odd feet!

Her Name I could not speak her name, Nor look upon her face. I drew a line under death, A place in the past, Or so thought I! Why let her image live? Let it die, So that I might survive, With a shadow of my love enduring. I could not speak her name, Then sleep gave sound to grief, I glimpsed her born anew, Beauty restored, Her gentle smile, A smile like first I saw when, long awhile, Our gaze first met. That day when love birthed bright as now, But yesterday. I could not speak her name, All words were mine, but one! I ran to be with her, To touch her cheek, To stroke her hair, But swift, she turned away, And was not there to stem my bitter loss, Awake I called her back: “My Floss. My Floss…”

Odds and ends:

Age My tissue tells its tale of years: Flesh, hair, teeth, and skin, all speak of ‘time’, All rhyme decay, But here within is RAGE at yesterday! A mind yet youthful, A mind more truthful than Anything that is writ Upon age’s putrid pages. A fact-face that IS the mass named ME! Without a trace of days That passed behind in infamy. But man will ever be perceived as grass, By what the eye perceives as dead, However large it lives inside The confines of an angry head.

Perhaps Perhaps you think your flame has died? Not so! Perhaps you think my reason lied? Not so! For although, chilled, the day stands still, Chance sits patient, And waits, Until a loving-look fans fates Bright glow!

Sleepwalking Lenor came, lost, So lost was she, Escaping from hard history, That what she took as road ahead, Began to take her back, instead! Lenor came, lost, Yet brought her smile, One that blossomed for a while, Then faded when she grew forlorn, Confused by muddled-maps she’d drawn. Lenor came, lost, Met by a ghost, Beneath a bright, but blank signpost. He closed her eyes, led her away, Into a land where drank dismay. Lenor came, lost, But spectre, glad! Dreamt, now, highway ahead she had, Yet haunting hearts, was wandered low, Her beauty, used, her footsteps slow. Lenor came, lost, When in that place Her soul beheld a knowing face, And understood from evening-eyes, Of hills that reached the morning skies. Lenor came, lost, Asleep, did doubt The prompting of her heart – her scout! And as she snapped the strangers gaze, Was lead below to Midnight-maze. Lenor came, lost, Her love still waits! The way he knows, the paths, the gates, But blinded by her ghostly guide, Lenor, in darkness, sets her stride. Lenor came, lost, Walks on, walks on, Around, around, direction gone. Still wake? She could, to see high hills, Run yet, among dawn’s daffodils!

Assignation 2 An avenue! One that’s meant to be! Come, take my hand and follow me Along a wooded way. For trees have changed, Time trips, leaves cannot stay, Autumn says what must be done. Can watery sun stand still Within a saddening sky? Soul signpost lies somewhere behind, And for a while you’ll find This Season strange, And pushed the pace, But when, at last, We stop to take our place Where he would have us be, I’ll reach and touch your face, And make you smile! Then safe among the hills, You’ll rest, With me.

Spent Impoverished in later life, Floss died! An ironic end, Her purse stuffed with money, No time for her to spend. 04-10-97

Elena PanayiDou (perhaps) Never had I seen such eyes, Such beauty so subdued. Never had I seen such eyes, Nor heard such silent soulful sighs, Never viewed such scars of grief, Wrapping red, Old wounds beneath. She held my fascinated gaze, And willed me to her side, Sad smiled, Yet never changed her stare, Sad smiled, And held me hostage there, Pain, was all I could perceive. Small common language did we share, Yet, alone, For days talked we, In English, Russian, Greek, and Deutsche, Elena’s eyes enchanting me To her dark past mind mystery, Until I saw too much! I drew her in to taste her skin, Words pierced her neck, Running so red Blood stained my reason, “unreal”, I said, This vision begging me to heal, To prick her pulsing vein of fear, To drown her dreams, of yesteryear. So deep I drank her suffering down, Her father’s death, Without a breath, I bled her soul. My crimson lips did gore explain, Why she must die with him again, And drunk with warm advice, Melt free from a cell of scarlet ice. At dawn, transformed, was she again, A vampire cured, Glorious in Greece. She thanked me with her sharp smile sure, Her anguish, ashen, now no more. So changed was she, whom did confide, No thirst could I detect inside, but peace!

Going I fear you’re going, Knowing I must remain, But the chain that links our hearts will stay, And whilst you are away, I will think of you, I will picture you, I will love you more each day. 15-10-97

And… And Lenor wakes, And sees the way, And kisses day, And fashions fate, And sees the hills, And still she waits, And still she waits. And is afraid Love is a dream, And will not last, And pictures past, And what was once, But now is gone, And feels she Cannot hurry on, And must Retrace her Slowest steps, And but accepts A silver smile, And to the breeze of Skagerrak, Shall wander back, And talk with he, Who she loves still, Yet deeper Loves she, daffodil, And sad will find No hearts made new, And all will be As left, was true, Then gold, Shall quickly Dawn that day, And she will Turn her head away, And see, beyond, High English hills, And fly to where’re Her heartbeat wills, And one day walk With me And one day walk, With me.

Snow-balling Love, From warm heart, Once ventured out, To offer all he could impart. Then left alone, His gifts, still wrapped, Love stood out in the cold day, Trapped. Long time he tarried, In deep snow, Scorned by she, Who’d bid him come, Who, once her scheming was undone, Did fly away a distant place, To wear another side to face. So after waiting without sign, Love shrugged his shoulders (Wide, like mine), Laid down his gifts, Looked up at grey, Smiled to himself, And strode away!

Colleen Eyes that hide in kisses, Where comfort, warmth, and bliss is. Lips that give of passion, Time spent unloved, did fashion. And more to give than knowing, With starlight, hidden, showing. So sweet, Colleen, close moving, ‘Till leaked lights disapproving. When loathe to leave, and dressing, Her soul she starts suppressing. No time for dreams to tarry, Then gone, her heart to carry… 19-10-97

Smudges Smudges upon the window panes, Explain. Hand- prints, infant made. Those who once played, Then disappeared. An oily trace remaining In various places, Bringing to mind their Food-filled smiling faces. My brood Who call no more to make a fuss, Although small smears still remain For me to find, But never wash away. So, will sobbing scrub My daughter’s pain away? Or tears cleanse mine? Or will hurt cloud view, And tomorrow, Sorrow Still fog the grief-glazed glass Placed in-between us. How should I know? 08-12-97

Death There is no pain like grief, Above, or beneath the earth. No gulf as wide as that Which does divide two souls Who love made one And death did separate. A suffering so great That naught can compensate For loss. No happy day forsake, Or contented week consort With yesteryear; To spans Deaths dark divide And dull the dreadful ache, My Floss… 27-12-1997

Church Bells “This is how to fight!” Her restless spirit said, As angry, I prayed for her to die, And for my sake, Surrender on her cancer killing bed. For at the end, Floss did not go gentle, But did rage, Rage against the dying of her light. Thrashing her limbs, Into each morphine nightmare night. “This, is how to die!” Her fearless spirit taught, Then waited for her kids to hurry near, To cry goodbye, Her last breaths slowing, Knowing that the battle was fought. 24-02-98

Sorry I am sorry. Sorry for being so cruel, So selfish, and unfair. Torturing you, As I stare, haughty, Yet secretly ashamed That you remain To love me, Ne’er we know That I deserve to loose Your darling devotion. Callously watching you Turn on your side, and choose To sob without sound. Emotion absorbed Into your suffering soul. I am sorry. Sorry for my feeble fears, My stupid steely ways, The thick-skinned things I say. Please allow your Telling tears To fall free. I promise that They will not go dumb Into the ground, And lie lost, As in wordless days before, But assimilated By my heart, they will Sound as stars, Lighting the dark in me.

The Game Love came disguised, And put the past away. Then held my heart, And exorcised dismay. What, once upon a time, Was nothing but to her a game, Became, for me, So real. That’s still the way I feel! And so the wheel has turned, And the finger having wrote, Moves on. The past has said goodbye, And drying tears, has gone. All is as new, and so (revealed as love) My Sweet, are you!

A Big Poem! Tiny, little, Very small. Not so very big At all!

There is a Place There is a place in England, Where roads wind free, and farms sit small, Where skylarks sing where streamlets fall, And meadows lay. There is a place in England, Where Abbey sits, and time is caught, Where arches stand without support, And years hold sway. There is a place in England, Where sheep do run, and farm dogs’ dash, Where pheasants golden feathers flash, And chilled is day. There is a place in England, Where soft hills rise and roll with green, Where rabbits graze, and blown trees lean, And spring lambs play. There is a place in England, Where moorland spreads further than sight, Where limestone walls cling to the height, And red deer stray. There is a place in England, Where river runs in valley sweet, Where houses form a narrow street, And clouds inlay. There is a place in England, Where many men will never tread, Where blessed I lay my weary head, And where I’ll stay.

Hospital Poem Grasping at sleep as it passes me by, Catching its tail now and then. Letting it go as the night hours sigh, Turning my head in my pen. Thinking too hard for my thoughts to soft lie, Running a reel in my mind. Pictures of past on a screen move on high, To rewind, and rewind, and rewind…

Bempton Gold crowned gannets soar, The czars’ of ocean. Each sovereign gliding graciously Around high cliffs of chalk. Black-tipped wings outstretched in majesty. Low simple song, Almost lost among the common Kittiwakes’ commotion.

Walking Fluttering between tall firs, Moth-like bat with rubber wings, As sunset to the heaven sings, And owls in silhouetted trees, Screech to the stupefying stars. , While we below, who walk at night, On hill, in dale, by river bank, Do find our way by bright moonlight, And marvel at each silvered sight.

Sorry, Scott Holland ‘T’s nothing long, Not much ado’, said she, ‘I slip into a room nearby. I am I, and you, are you. Whatever we were to each, Are still - not dead. Call me yet thy lovely girl. Speak to me in ways easy, as ever. Never alter tone, or solemn be. Remember to laugh as we did so, Don’t let a sad silence grow, But let my name be spoken free, Play and pray for me, And let me exist not as a ghost, But alive. Joy maintains Life’s purest meaning, So let tears be of themselves demeaning. Love continues here as there, Why put me out of mind Because I step next door, I am still me, Just as the moment fast gone before. Nothing is past, or lost, No final curtain drawn, Truth will tell, One brief moment And night will bring the early dawn. Death sleeps short, my Love, And all is well.’

Strikes Wood In the wood there is a quiet place, Where peat-stained waters rushing race, From crags on high to shamrock glade, A place that beauty made, And few souls see, But we.

Supposing Do not suppose because I weep, Whilst reading letters of my love, That you are somehow lower than The memories that remain above. Believe, that though my soul bleeds yet, With thoughts of she I shan’t forget, That you are loved with all my heart, With all that loving can impart, And nothing less than I can give, Is yours, as long as love shall live.

Sparrow

Once - a boy, I shot a sparrow, Chirping upon high. An accident! I shot to scare, With rifle – air. Least - that’s what I said when it was dead. Two extra pellets sticking from its head, And a fluttered suffered mess upon the flagstones. I watched it die, Because of I. It was wrong. No other song! That’s why, now, I cannot put the bloody boot in, But love birds, And despise those Who enjoy senseless, stupid, shooting. 15-06-99

Sure Love Once I was sure, Sure that love came once, Or not at all. Once to share, But once to call. For how could chance Make love-lost men Dance right again, When deformed so Horribly by death. Yet I was wrong, As wrong as any, For love is not lone, Nor lame, But linked by many.

Black Dress Upon opening my eyes I saw her sitting there, Repairing a black dress, With black thread, In the darkening room. She could have easily Reached to her side And switched on the table lamp, But for some reason She did not. Pretending to be yet sleeping I kept still, And in the gathering gloom Watched her patiently sewing. She was beautiful! Gradually, her engrossed expression, And her lowered head, With its cascade of inky tresses, Was soft blotted Into one indistinct shape. Then, masked by the strengthening Silhouette of the armchair, Her fuzzy outline slowly slipped from sight, And yet somehow, in the near night, She sewed on.

Trials If we didn’t have some adversity Then we wouldn’t have any pleasure, Which we seem to get, In an equal measure! 01-06-2012

A Puddy Cat “I need a hug”, she quickly said, I hold her close against my chest, To put her troubled heart to rest, To hide her hurt, her acting face, Away from life, away from time, Just for a moment, Holding still. 23-02-2013

Bird Table Whilst the young birds fly, The old dove stays. He has no cause to care, Dovecot to share, But waits to die, Tormented by a younger breed, Alone and ill. Stock still, and starved, Among the wild birdseed, His fears long flown away, Gone is his cautious mind, As cold exposure ends his day. A fate that seems to us unkind, ‘But it’s natural’, they say, And comes to many Whom have known the summer sky, That having fast flown, Must slowly wait to die. 05-01-14

Escape Again I’m locked inside my head, Where it’s dark, and so cold. No one sees that I am trapped, Confined, solitary sad, Going insane, Feeling so old… Through prison bars I see the summer sun. Once, beneath, I felt so young, Thrilled to paint, perform, and write, To warm my creative senses. Now I’m pale, chilled, And out of sight... Sometimes I pound upon the padded cell, But in this hell-hole Who can hear my pleading? They assume I’m doing fine, Yet like the sinking sun, Slowly, I am bleeding… Beneath my pillow lies a potion, Something to help me sleep. But would it be a selfish act If tired of insomnia, I took it? Perhaps one day I may just say… ‘F… it’… 29-03-2015 Seventy I’ve got to be honest, Which, when writing poetry I always try to be. This year I reach seventy, And I have become afraid. I look around and miss the missing, Such as my old friend John. The next rhyme is obviously ‘Gone’, but he is… And so are many that I have loved. But spared death for now ‘I’ soldier on… It’s not that I fear dying, My bags are packed beneath the bed, And perhaps if I had used my head more, There are many things I might have done, And have not, but so what? I have done my best not to leave a mess, And having mended many hearts, Only one thing I confess is left undone, One thing that I regret I could not fix, No matter how I tried, And that remains my broken son. My life has been a bumpy ride, With wonderful scenery passing by, Destinations in the darkest depths, And others in the summer sky. In dying I’ll have but few laments, My fearful hovering patient friend, Please realise that in the endless end, When tired and sleeping gone have I, I’ll not be looking down on high From some amorphous cloud to see, The World remaining as it always was, And not as I wanted it to be… 03-02-16

Willow I’ve been had, My little girl’s, Little girl, Has had a little girl! How can that be? An old hippy getting a new hip… The years have overtaken me, Great grandad. 18 – 06 - 16

The Magnolia and the Maple tree. I won’t let the two trees touch, In case they cast two much shade And stunt the summer flowers. So I prune them back When it comes cold, And feel guilty That they can’t hold hands Whilst together Growing old.

19 – 08 - 16

Our Flooded House

From the B&B I can see The saddened house Staring back at me. It stands alone, Stone cold and damaged, With dust filled rooms, Powerless and ill. It waits for we three to return: We three? The confused cat, Bruised Norma, And grumpy me. To return and watch the fish, String washing below the tall fir tree, Set flowers upon the windowsill, And most of all, Just be…

30-03-2011

Painful Poetry Part Two:

Alzheimer’s

This is the beginning of another end, When I, In time, Will lose a second love. A Wife, A friend.

I am old now, And perhaps I will not be there To witness her eventual demise. But who can tell When a forgetful spirit flies.

I will watch life’s movie play out, With endless buffering. Until I leave behind Our unjust, Our fated, Our sorrowful Stupid suffering.

14/12/2016

Information

Who to tell? Or to explain that she forgot. Or said it twice, Or thrice. Who not to make aware? Who to tell of her trials Who’ll care?

15/12/2016

Separation

There’s a certain loneliness that comes with this, This separation of our minds. Me, unable to stop her going. Planning how to cope with someone else Who, in time, I won’t be knowing.

She, unable to recall what just transpired. So pointless some reminders. I must not forget who she once was Because, I do love her, And must try not to miss her too soon.

29/12.2016

Ghetto

He dwells in the ghetto of his mind, In a slum, In a room, Full of tired and tortured thoughts, Squinting through closed shutters in his head, At those that pass by his place of dread. Imprisoned by choice, Knowing that he will, Eventually, Be discovered lying in the gutter, With his last thoughts Scattered all around him, Too dead to utter.

29/01/2017

Poetry written from 1960 until May 2015: 7 Too Many People 8 Jerusalem 9 Printing 10 Observation 11 Is it Christmas Yet? 12 Hippie 13 Cup and Ring 14 Skylark 15 Glen Stream 16 DTs 17 Simon - age two 18 Simon - age eleven 19 Simon - age thirteen 20 Snow 21 Grey Day 22 Gwithian 23 Return 24 Insomnia 25 SOS 26 Jowett Pond 27 Bolton Abbey 28 Detached 29 Departure 30 Temple Newsam 31 Detached 32 Rawdon Billing 33 Mr Babble the Insurance Man 34 Fog 35 Cutter Grinding 36 Mormonism 37 Miscarriage Bingo 38 Grandad 39 Promotion Prospects

40 Three Sisters’

Poetry written in Western Germany: 42 Deutch TV Documentary 43 Hydenweg 10 44 Homesick 45 Buchenwald 46 Hessich Oldendorf 47 Hameln 48 BFPO 29 49 Driving 50 1663 51 Wealthy 52 Minden Road

Return home: 54 Hospital 55 Stroke 56 Tired 57 Dad Dream 58 Rich Man 59 Day 60 Debt 61 Leaving 62 Douglas Dakota C47 63 Nidd Flier 64 Floss Tired 65 To be read at my funeral 66 Two am 67 Storm 68 Good-bye 69 Floss 70 CCU 71 Apart 72 Vanished Vicar

73 My Daughters’ 74 New Nana 75 Beth - age one 76 Jaque a Mate 77 Beth age one - and a bit! 78 A Song for Floss 79 When Petals Fall 80 Dark-eyed Girl 81 ‘PC’ 82 Trumpton! 83 Another Miscarriage 84 This Christmas 85 Now 86 Simon - aged twenty-five 87 Child’s Pond 88 My Valentine 89 Once Upon A Time 90 The One Who Walked the Pathway 91 Willow herb 92 Simon’s Travail 93 Old Eyes 94 Simon – ageless 95 Dead D J 96 “Darrrrrd!” 97 Mister Mclaughton 98 Little Big Man 99 ‘B’ My Fairy! 100 Ever 101 Lot 50 102 The Kids 103 As if? 104 In Search of Flowers 105 The Whale’s Song 106 Shared Computer 107 Gritter

108 Childless Christmas 109 January 110 Jackdaws 111 My Heart 112 Beth’s Tree 113 Peter on Parade 114 Valentine 97 115 Faith Fairies 116 Lapwing 117 Box 118 Freedom 119 Whitby 120 Sanctuary 121 Room 122 Tea 123 Fissure 124 Phantom

Painful Poetry: 126 – 154. Poems numbered 1 to 28 155 The Follower

Gone temporarily insane: 157 Spider 158 Assignation 1 159 Lenor 160 J B’s Island 161 Pain Insane 162 Hat

This and that: 164 IRA 165 Gulf 166 Tree 167 Cole Porter’s Gone Sick, Song!

169 Lock 170 Extraordinary doggerel! 171 Crazy

Poetry written in Greece: 173 KOS 174 Eclipse in Greece 175 Lardy Birds 176 Mountain 177 Legs 178 Her Name

Odds and ends: 180 Age 181 Perhaps 182 Sleepwalking 183 Assignation 2 185 Spent 186 Elena PanayiDou (perhaps) 188 Going 189 And… 191 Snow-balling 192 Colleen 193 Smudges 194 Death 195 Church Bells 196 Sorry 197 The Game 198 A Big Poem! 199 There is a Place 200 Hospital Poem 201 Bempton 202 Walking 203 Sorry, Scott Holland 204 Strikes Wood

205 Supposing 206 Sparrow 207 Sure Love 208 Black Dress 209 Trials 210 A Puddy Cat 211 Bird Table 212 Escape 213 Seventy 214 Willow 216 The Magnolia and the Maple tree 217 Our flooded House

Painful Poetry Part Two 218 Alzheimer’s 219 Information 220 Separation 221 Ghetto

Peter J Scott writes an eclectic mix of novels and books, some very different from this one. Go to: https://sites.google.com/site/peterjscottwriter/homehome - to discover more.

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