Shangri-La

in your mews house
up from the clock tower
the french doors swung wide open
your long white summer dress
each button undone revealing
another inch of flesh for me to kiss
working my way slowly up your legs
I rested my head on your belly
felt the rise and fall of your breathing
smelt the salty scent of sea breeze
the fern in the green glazed jardinière
the only other movement in the room
deep in this warm canyon
your fingers ran through my hair
as if the outside wasn’t there
although somewhere came the echo
of scaffolding being taken down

acting out your own death

early morning
low winter sun
stirring from sleep
stirring coffee

I'm almost in the clouds
up here I'm almost a new god
your apartment is heaven
my angel sleeps in the next room
she lies under her eiderdown clouds

I'm standing by the window
looking out over the road
looking out over the prom
looking out over the beach huts
looking out over the sea beyond

I'm reminded of Chicago 1986
the Doral Plaza on N. Michigan
another apartment on the 25th floor
we swam in the pool on the 38th floor
clouds and days drifted by
another angel in another lifetime

now I'm down on the prom
a man standing his ground
his back to the waking town
his eyes fixed on the horizon
ready to make the walk

between the beach huts
over the shingle
into the sea



title taken from Shadowplay by Ian Curtis / Joy Division -
words inspired by a photo by Caroline Collett

squally wind

the squally wind
pinballs up the valley
propelled by who?
by nature? by god?
by the wind itself?

for a moment
all is quiet
the trees take a rest
the birds settle
in their roosts

the tiles cease rattling
the old barn’s beams
steady themselves
the owl inside
shifts on its perch

until the force that will
sends the next
barrelling squall
to bash and bend
and torment one and all

for nature? god?
the wind itself?
are laws unto themselves
and we mere mortals
hang on as best we can

to a world in a spin
out of all control

now doesn’t that make
you feel so small