on time

it's so beautiful
you're close to God there, it's
nice to be at peace


n.b. Incoming phone call, overheard on train south out of London.

CLP 04/08/2022

on the moon

did you really think
such beauty could pass unseen
behind a silk screen?


CLP 17/06/2022

Autumn ii

your irises contain

bright chestnut flames

choice of tint for your hair

so well matched


we sat for three hours

before we parted

I could not resist saying

your eyes are beautiful


the season’s first wasp

dances like a puppet at my window

moves off uncertain

where to go from here?


n.b. For APM

CLP 08/08/2021

On Memory ii

We at tower top

blue mist lines of distant hills

Il duomo bells


CLP 05/01/2021

On Drizzle

Light diffused through sheets

which gently wrap limbs in cold

that seeps into bones


CLP 29/09/2020

On High

Drape of perfect blue

Dissolved by summer heat

Reveals heaven’s gifts


CLP 19/07/2020

On High

Angels do exist

Plain as the nose on your face

Beauty enfolds us


CLP 16/07/2020

On Time

Love those age-scored lines

History in the making

A life being lived


CLP 01/05/2020


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