Like a heavy trench coat
Death finds an ocassioned shoulder to rest on.
It's no use anticipating it.
That would gave it too much credit.

In January you're planning September
for your orchestra with your Son Peter
You are reddened by warmth
creating sounds
Whereas I am with my poetry
pushing the boundaries
reading yesteryears accentuation
sharing my craft
You're clearing an audible path
from another world
pouring light into your notes

Black enameled  embellishment
Your beauty is refined
Like Audrey Hepburn or the Porsche 911
you share their Maitani good looks
OM2 you are the earlier OM1's size
You're the best of both worlds
Manual and aperture priority
Shutter in throat
Deftness is the first priority
A superlative on the field camera
better than the Leica M3 or
Canon A1

In the stillness of Winter
I do not know what I wait for
The bigger the less fallible
I'm a big fish in the pool
Quashing all  hatchling in its way
ensuring there is no overflow
withstanding the colored rain and neige
The larger ones will inherit the world
as they meander down the riverbank

Thought I understood the world
where's there's a message buried in there somewhere,
carried by a higher ideal.
Endless days of waiting,
Eastern nights bedevils his schemes,
bright lights cannot identify the griever,
running faster I am another searcher

My Mother was an Accountants wife,
who sometimes spoke Afrikanesse,
on the telephone
when the children were naughty.
Growing hydrangeas in the cellar,
took up CAB in Camden.
The domestic disputes she could tell

Later took up crosswords
after finding a Left Sun Crossword
then became a master.
There was nothing she couldn't do,
draw freehand domestic animals.
Had the prestige of planning healthy diets,
Aubergine  to appear as chopped herrings,
deft with an Afrikanner chop.

Kindness  follows closely behind
the day is done
Nighttimes dreams flourish

Begging eyes
asking for loose change
you are faminised

You can't  fish in the sky blues
youve misspent your life in detention
so get used to the jamboree

Your the chief operator
for the tuxedos
The jewel in the crown
Balanced and assured
Peter the cat has it all
He is the creme d'creme
The after dinner speech
The cat who swims with river dolphins
a as in assurance

In my garden the crouch grass
celebrate their resilience,
and the trellised Wisteria
never fulfilled their frame.
The planted dahlias
can wait another year or two
and the promised acer never was that variety,
undone by my gardener
whose solitary iris is an
forlong dream.

Rainclouds fall like christening diamonds.
Yet there's no silver lining,
well hedged around this  tempus fugit.
Yesterdays grey hubris
is undone by a fledging bird song.

For my state of mind needs no repairing,
deeply woven, establishing a living,
trying to convince ourselves,
for so many good kinds of reason.

You're really not something else
You're a  copy of the M42  Spotmatic
with stopped down aperture too,
but it's your metering that is a first  
two concentric green half circles converging
for perfect exposure
making you something of a curates egg

Written on the wall
We love the B52's and REM
Youth can be so beguiling
Where is our civic pool
They've petrified time
Its now a Lido

We had a ringside of change
Smiling as best as we could
No one cares a ****
Why should the Diablo gain
Every day we look for the ghost of change

His mousing days gets longer
His instinctive prey is abetted
by a seeming maturity

He sits on the garage roof
warry of any stray diversion
in his dominion
He suffers no time for fools

He is his own plaything
being innocent
of giving pain

It's raining on the windowsill
a forever lonely man is in a quandary,
its sad news
love has stalled:
satin excuses straight as lace.
Old Man is forever aware of changes.
Now the Sun is peeling,
and his sojourn has faded,
like the journeyman easing into discomfiture
while the moon ponders.

with love jaded,
bright young things should enjoin
the gossamer quilt of another day.
fortitude should follow,
daybreak may forbid you,
but you come hither
on a given day.

We could have met in Croydon
for a coffee,
The 468 bus from Ruskin Park
is still journey apparent
I thought we could have shared our past
Dyslexia 
but like silken ash you proverbially
waved me Adieu
although I tried to explain
Dungeness and its shingles

It almost like you wanted to preserve
confidentiality, despite partially opening-up
about needing teachers' notes.
Nonchalant does not suit you
the past is not a closed shop
its a bridge yet
for peer acceptance

She is built like a boiler chicken
with eggs aplenty to lay
drinking champagne wine
and munching panettone
in the splendor of her nest
No messing up, its not obscene
Time for a temperature to check
for a fever
Touch has a memory
peeling orange rind
Tourist boy
Give me metal to drink


Chasing down the Sun
Yesterday false hope was raised
So we found evening tide
to ablute the chicken shed

By the end of the night
I scrawl my name on the moon
silently on a comedown
You let me down
seemingly taking the bus the wrong way
to Dulwich village

Rachel with tattoos
video artist using k4
I see you again  tonight
with your sweet demeanor
hanging over us
We could process film together
its intricate ways profuse
and laugh at your broken OM10
with its  intermittent light fault

A promise of old friends
that never materialized
And the man slides backward
Beyond the broken  promises
no inner light in his horizon
He was a stranger in their eyes
as the rain kept rolling over
as your childhood dreams
were taking away
you cannot buy friends

Cynical platitudes.
Burying your head in the sand.
As an empty space.
You have to understand
be like  the Phoenix.
Ready to rise,
into my new space.

Self satisfaction as garish as a stalk.
Now I'm carrying the truth,
why waste yourself on vanity,
be sincerely  glad
into something better.

the jack of knaves
knows the end of the world
as we know it
is emotional panache

He came to the home as a wispy shadow
through the rusty keyhole
having lost direction on the way
opening the door
he found that read letters don't grow very well

He sought goodness
in spite of knowing where the weeds grew
In the thick of the fight
he succumbed to being the anti-hero
but a metaphor in the voidness of
the facing night

Its almost December
and we're old friends
I should see more of you.
You've still to play your favorite song
These problems are not insurmountable

They've closed the down the town
Rows of shops shuttered
It feels like a war zone

If it never rains it pours
The Market isn't the same
and the footfall isn't immense

But if it snows
I meet you on a snow-covered street
and you'd wave a smile
in your Chinese hat and gloves
you got from Primark

Down Sidcup they are planning mind games
without a safety net
We are hot desking
whilst under a railroad strike
We are going the long way to work
London Bridge is being redeveloped
The tension is brewing like a bout of typhoid
We are being punished for events
outside our control.
Its the survival of the fittest
the most local win
But some of us are tadpoles
out of our depth

They say you are a rats
nest of  wires and circuitry
but thanks to a reputable shop
you're still guaranteed
The ancestor of the Nikon Fe
Nikon's first automatic camera
The battery is in the dafest of places
behind the mirror
Rabbit ears for Non auto-indexing
You are a workhorse  my Nikkormat EL

I am a  swallow,
furnished on a  nest
capturing the essence from  my flight,
diligently following a hidden path.
Pretending Buddha's hand is a hallow truth,
parried by the wind
this old world will not  change because,
you're a fledging
tears like the fallen rain
along with the passing cumulus

Winter came
wrapped my collar into my coat
Mellow was her smile
shes working on bringing
longer shadows
the brevity of tomorrow's  geschenk
Love where are you now
when  I need you?

touching your hand
is as near to heaven
I could wish for

Miss Daffodil
cries all alone
the quest of youth gone
robbing me of what was mine
Forcing a smile
never a good word
makes life comfortable

So take your blinkered passion
with blushed eyes
and see your battered words
breezing in your light

Distant star take me on a visiting spree
a time voyage
past the droll follies loitering the streets
with porcelain rogue and
immaculate tunics and shift dresses
where they all smile, ascertaing
to be daughters of artisans
but they are maladroit
and will lie for you
excessive in their
masters desires

Swallow pride,
nothing can remain
the same.
Rocky August,
the most capricious Month,
where lovers' break each others hearts
and sleigh down the proverbial slopes unbequeathed.

Fabia the long distance of dreams
drew me to you,
share your promises with me,
and journey with truth
to the forests of the east
where maidens dance so freely.

it's that retired boarding school feeling
(although manners still make the man),
forgoing the prestige of privilege
except I left it when I was 11,
there's was no eleven plus taken,
no corrective carpe diem moment gainned,
just your direct entry secondary modern
a  carpet of the day job lot
like bottled water expired.
.

Hearts and holograms
Snoring shabby cat amongst the rugs.
Pomegranates and playing cards
Memories are like scattered roses

A fireside of crackling antics.
A Soliquoy at its own behest.

These are your tired orange curtains,
silence after the fall,
such a pretty afternoon

in my room
I have the plath and trakl poets
it's not as though I'm  sadly blue
I write poems of my own
dreamily dreaming of love and dahlias
and await  the never arrived ourtime  message's
that is today's show of good graciousness

It's the silken sound,
on the near-naked ground
like a long blade of grass.

It's in your first hope,
cherished and memorized.
the sudden gust of wind,
scented Sandals teasing the high ground

It's in your  turned pages,
that invites you
like a corral,
teasing the rendevous
climbing the waterfall.
Oh how we were once children

That little stray
what terrors did he see?
Feed him in the snowy December garden
until he came inside

He was a tomcat
until he was  spaded
then he finds his solace
emerging up the landing
feeding tray by tray

Now he is comfortable
by the computer chair
and is feed at the top of the stairs
Still terroritial
he plays crumb fights
with the resident cat

Muntjac deer sipping from the river
wild marigolds shimmering in the early light,
cast off the debris and prestige your head!
Cajolement  is its own spectacle
as a trickle of light shines
The Darkness dances staccato in its own accord
Between the silence and dew  lingers truth

There is a wind in hell's chance
buried in voices in your head
before the war
the living and dead
A promise blind
as gentle as a two penny.
Johnnies smile, sweet enough to
make the young brides blush,
leading them through the tarnished avenue
Preacher man gave that boy a name
The promise is blind
see shamed guitar men run away

Without Cadence and cascades rhythm
Criticizers without a clue
comment on the poet
instead of the poem
But the poet didn't say Pass On

Quagmires where criticizers reside
commenting on the roots
instead of the branch
The White Witch  mischievous by degree
says criticize the poem, not the poet
but by imagery, language and
figuration
arent they the same

Suitcase with grief
Credible April rains
Spring so near
yet so far away.
With the greenfly and spider over my coat
Looking for lasting relations
Could have been a hero
But I've lost my place
Right or wrong.
If I had only known Elvis Presley

childlike we try to understand
the seventies
had my first girlfriend at 10
Strong Summer blaze of 76
bleaches away then sin,
although underage I watched ****
with my kid sister,
and bought strong Woodbines cigarettes for a shilling,
and heard the banter of Roberts
with his strong retelling of adult-themed books.

Barren cloisters with howling wind
We are as feigned as the whites of fridges
The wind feels shrug on our faces'

Those barbed words count
like a Jade plant without a stem

You survive by change
and dawn is heaven
after the night's guilted  foray
unmade on nickel promises

Death is a whisper.
An ungallant coat of one hue.
Black as a lagoon, washing
souls in turmoil.
Oh flock of night,
children pray to offer the
banishment of light.

I wrote pretty songs for you,
half expecting some applause.
Yet you walked away.
No sugar casing
just the improbable heart.

I am your stepfather
I saw your birth Mother's face
Scrawny and depleted
Never did I think this
would be a harbinger
for your finite size
I was told by the Vet you have
some Siamese lineage
Your intransigence
is at times too troublesome
Clawing me at the third stroke
but a Father always forgives his Son
Your eyes talk to me
with a haunting no comment
for any ascertainable question
I may ponder to ask you

You come in with another's coat
you are no one's daughter
you're as fat as a water buffalo
Rock N Roll won't save you
but Jesus will
my way your day
just like your morrows

You should be glad
Just an honest word
will prevail
Do you harken
to another's accord?
with potholes revealing a deeper danger

I am winter.
You're sunlight.
I am pale skinned,
murmuring low.
You're olive skinned,
with a glow.

Spring paints it's golden daffodils,
swathes of lavender from the cottage window awaken Lover's.
The morning blossoms.
The world pledges it's amen.

elated amongst others
kind as a woven spell
clean as housework furnished
a tufty moggie for all seasons

bathing in your after care
you make a mensch of us all
countless others cant compare
to your inseparability
and after care