but mostly not

and then after
the week’s work
we’d drink our
hard earned pay
on Friday nights
and Saturdays
in bars and clubs
or strangers’
basement flats
where on occasion
love was found
in a cold kitchen
or crowded hall
but mostly not at all

on Sundays
we’d sleep till noon
or crawl our way
home on our own
or in the company
of a red haired girl
or a boy in black
as the sunlight rose
glinting gold
on a rippling sea
under a rusting pier
and a clear blue sky
yes you and I
but mostly not you

the week then
from Monday on
was mainly grim
with not much fun
as we soldiered on
our minds still on
the weekend been
and the one to come
pulling us back
pushing us on
nothing between
dawn and dusk
a trip to the pub
but mostly not much

years roll on
where did they go
none of us know
life happens that way
one day we’re young
the next we’re old
some drink on
like they were young
or wear their clothes
like they were young
which isn’t wrong
don’t get me wrong
it’s the way life’s sold
but mostly not mine

weekends now
come faster than
my memory span
can recollect the times
we’d drink our way
through all those days
the night times too
that red haired girl
that boy in black
those basement flats
those bars and clubs
all in the past
all fading fast
but mostly not

Hove 1985

she stood where the waves turned to leave
a smiling line of debris on the shore
he looked back over his shoulder
a line of grey buildings washed away
when she waved the sea came in
when he waved back the sea went out
somewhere very deep inside
they were both crying

early poetry lol

early poetry lol

rolling

the waves roll
as if great humpbacks
are passing through unnoticed
below the surface turmoil
within the undercurrents
singing their songs of the deep
blowing holes in our imaginations
we can only guess at what goes on
when their eye meets ours
a lighthouse beacon glinting
warning us of danger
now surging ever closer
with the passage of time
these great leviathans
who roll with the waves
dive to seek respite
from the constantly curious
the flesh and photograph hunters
who follow so relentlessly
to the ends of the world
across rolling waves
that never cease
like the tolling of bells
on ships lost at sea

river

I know where you have come from
but not what you contain
I know where you are flowing
with your toxic brew to drain

I wash in you and worship you
as millions often do
I watch as you float past me
to flush our waste into the sea

I know we hold the answers
to cure your deadly pain
I know I’m but a poor man
a large family to maintain

I hope that help comes quick
before our children all fall sick
I wish for purer waters
to cleanse us mortal sinners

I know where you have come from
I know where you will go
I pray you’ll send a sign one day
to help us change our ways

photo credit Vikram Sharma / Daily Mail Online

ice creams on the pier

in the distance
Beachy Head

we all wore sunglasses
– enjoyed the sea breeze

talked about
this and that and the other

and later – when the tide
had come in on our thoughts

we shed some tears –
the seagulls kept me awake

I lay there at 5 in the morning
imagining swallowing pills

one after another
until the bottle was empty

my face white as chalk
the tide now far from shore

and in the distance
Beachy Head

 

Book Review

I’m pleased to say that my book review of Virginia Astley’s ‘The English River – a journey down the Thames in poems and photographs’ has been published on Write Out Loud

https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=79707

Mother fed us plastic today

Mother fed us plastic today
cut up into bite-sized pieces
she mixed it with some fish
to make the dish go further
because times were hard
since Father had drowned
the squall that took him under
one wild and windy day
left us but a single parent family
adrift on the gyre of uncertain seas

The Cherry Venture

coming soon