Soot darkened ***** drizzled damp sandstone
    grey like depression.
Dull ochre leaves squelch wetly under foot
    rotting and foetid.

Scaffolding covers faded elegance
    dims its fame.
Water trickles down umbrellas, hats and
    drenched clothes

Cars spraying water over the pavement
    saturates pedestrians:
soaked blue jeans stick to frozen legs,
    soggy like a graveside.

Greasy spoon tipsy waitress swerves
    spilled tea;
cracked cups, saucers and sweet generic cake
    disappoints.

Stove radiates a red smoky welcome
    like a warmed bed.
Crafted draught pints served foamy and savoured
    sparkling and bitter.

Locals drink, eat, play board games and throw darts,
    laugh at the rain.
I read poetry books to my girlfriend
    by the snug fire.

Buxton will be golden again
      when summer comes, and
its octagonal pavilion teem
    with street bustling life.

What I see
    is a reflection of my point of view.

I was the youngest of seven children with a docile, simple mother with no emotion who was obedient to my violent and sadistic father.

Suffice to say I was subjected to continual abuse.

I could not pronounce words which led to years of speech therapy.

The therapist seemed to get great delight in every meeting, forcing me to say " Six sizzling sausages frying in a pan" , which resulted in saliva running down my chin and extreme embarrassment.

She always laughed at this.

At age ten, I found myself confused and petrified as she rummaged inside my underwear with her eager hand.

I never went back.

I never told anyone.

I buried myself in books and wrote poetry.

Years later I collated some poems together and sent them to the British Poetry Society ( probably not the correct name).

To my delight I received a hand written letter from their president, giving advice and encouragement.

His name was Spike.

Spike Milligan.

Thank you sir.

All of my life I have had a problem with keeping eye contact.

They say eyes are the mirror of the soul.

The only times I don't have a problem is when I am enraged with someone.

It was so bad when I was a child that I could not even watch the news on TV, as I thought the newsreader was looking at me.

Deep shame was the cause.

Thanks Dad.

~
Unusual and cloudless

This slippery world

Today is still contagious

Here is heat, here is rain

Here is love, regardless

Shadows in the scaffolding

Look like a broken alphabet

The sun in its anger

Just won't set

Life and how to do it

Perfectly absent
~