Gyrismó

Purple bougainvillea tumbling from baskets decorated our way
In those hours without shade in the hottest heat
We found a route to that other bay soon enough
With its crumbling Crusader castle cut from a cleft in the high valley
Guarding over the café, squared-off with bleached tarpaulins
Sitting like a brig roped to the quay, its skeleton crew manning the gangway
You sheltered at a table with red chequered cloth
A lemonade to hand, listening to the dulcet whispers of cypresses
As I walked out over the heavy stones into the impossible blue
Where I heard that dolphins play at sunrise

With an eye to the Sun’s shifting, we shook off this dream
Stumbled into the bright, cicadas burring louder still 
Untrusting of time, we chose a more direct path
Though paused to squint at the white-washed chapel on the cliff 
Before we cut between concrete-terraced allotments
Their rusted-wire fencing caging yellow trumpets of flowering zucchini
Fig trees fit to drop, propped, tied up; files of leeks with folded leaves.
Bees hurried by, leading us via lemon scents through an alley
To the square, where the old man limped from his coal-black cupboard of a corner-shop
To bring chilled beer and green olives to our off-balance, plastic table
Where we could watch the porters making ready for the ferry back.

.

n.b. www.napowrimo.net 2020: Day 30 prompt: Return.

Christopher Perry

30th April, 2020

Hotel 4**** (221 Reviews)

The lawn immaculate as Mary
The Cedar of Lebanon adorns the garden
Gifts of shade and shelter beneath its boughs
Verandah a place of repose
Guests read piously in wicker chairs
The chapel home to a magnificent pipe organ
Through stained-glass windows
Pews reverentially curve around the high altar
A place of celebration and prayer
A modest Christian retreat

I had arrived late, ruck sack dusty
At this Internet-located
Recommended overnight stop
Where you had checked-in earlier
Met with an eye-brow of surprise
That two guests with different chromosome compositions
And un-familial surnames
Booked just one room
Albeit a room allocated in the annex
Not in the elegant mansion house

A room located past the pond
Through the back of the garden
Up creaky stairs to an improvised corridor
Above the old stable block
With steps that go up a quarter-flight
Then down a half-flight
Past the showers and wash rooms
With wooden doors like slatted gates
That do not reach the floor

Our room is interesting
Wall striped-paper
Dazzling light bulbs
A handbasin
A wall mirror that reflects from my chest down
Two small single beds with sheets and blankets
Yards apart
A retreat from the time of Dunkirk?
No continental comforts here

You laugh at my crest-fallen face
The room, the short beds
Your hearty response lifts my gloom
The only proper reaction to this
Pre-booked, no-refunds, high season
Imagined romantic rendezvous
That belies its online presence

We went to supper down the town
Where a street fight starts
Between two groups of over-heated youths
Brawling outside the open window of the restaurant
I call for assistance and follow the barman out
He breaks it up with a strong voice and local knowledge of names and faces
We have finished our meal before the police arrive

All is done and dusted, the street long-empty
When we walk back under the early summer blossoms
Beside a stream running in the stone gutter, between the path and road
We climb stairs, chuckles renewed at this place
Choose not to move the beds together
The night is too warm, we too full of dinner
We kick off blankets and sleep

Until woken by blinding sunlight and inquisitive wasps
Nested outside the window
And now exploring the room
Which also vibrates with the heavy throb of diesel engines from day-trip coaches
With their cigarette smoking drivers coughing and comparing tachograph notes in high volume above the rumbles
While they wait for passengers keen for a pilgrimage
To a local pagan shrine, like Stonehenge, Silbury, Avebury, or Glastonbury Tor
Or perhaps just the Cobb at Lyme Regis, then Weymouth for the beach

“Not so funny now, is it?” I suggest
You lift an eyelid, shift sleepily from your bed
Slide yourself under my sheet
And wiggle up close, laughing again
Pointing out that the mirror is now just the right height

.

n.b. www.napoiwrimo.net Day 28 prompt: bedroom.

Christopher Perry

28th April, 2020

Wednesday Night B&B

I heard him

In the room above

Wandering

On every creaking board

Before heavy shift of weight to bed

Shuffling down

Stretching out

A soft repeated snore

That broke before some more

Lumbering

Trickle of urine in the bowl

Then more

Wandering

On every creaking board

It was nearly ten to four

.

CLP 20/02/2020

January Road Trip (XXXIII)

Sun climbs hill, blesses

Cathedral, castle, city

Pink cherry blossom

.

n.b. Lincoln: this ancient city is built on an escarpment edge above the River Witham, (which it now envelopes). To the north the land falls steadily toward the Humber Estuary; to the east the land gradually flattens toward the German Sea beyond Boston and its Stump.

If you ever decide to visit this fascinating historic city, the Allotment House Bed & Breakfast is highly recommended; great bed and an excellent breakfast. It has a much-loved garden that enjoys the morning light.

.

CLP 31/01/2020