On Water xxv

under umbrella

lovers rush seeking shelter

breathless excitement


CLP 03/05/2021

On Water xiii

a pause to reflect

it was here that fate pushed me

I’d to cross a bridge


n.b. Time and tide and all that. Choices, decisions, life goes on.


CLP 23/04/2021

L3 (Day 43): Carrow Hill

Here’s white light, no heat

Heaven’s lights will shine bright tonight

In this brilliant galaxy

how will you hear

the star that calls to you?


CLP 18/02/2021

On One

Is there any room

For one more on top? I ask

If not, I will walk


n.b. As a ten year old travelling to school I learned that the rush hour bus was often crowded, if not full. Walking on to the next stop, or even the one after next, meant that I had at least tried to change something for when the next bus came along.

It was usually raining.


CLP 13/11/2020

On Numbers 3

How many days would

you expect a friend to wait

before warning you?


n.b. Thanks, mate. Three days is a long stretch to have to wait before letting on you have symptoms of a notifiable disease to someone who you last saw four days ago. How dare you take decisions on my behalf about my health and the health of my friends and family! How do you know what the risk is; who I plan to meet; how effective physical distancing actually is if asymptomatic? I would have made different decisions had you been kind enough to let me know. I hope you get better soon. My asymptomatic test results are due tomorrow.

CLP 26/10/2020

On the Road XXIV

A junction is not

the end of our journey, but

it’s decision time


n.b. Drive carefully, btw.


CLP 19/08/2020

On the Road XXII

Approaching dead-end.

Reverse gently? Three-point turn?

Hand-brake turn? Plough on?


p.s. Or ditch the car and walk.


CLP 12/08/2020

On the Road XIX

Great fun while it lasts

Until there’s only room for one

Then you’ll know the truth


CLP 26/07/2020


What delights await?

Sun bright outside, boxes in

Day spoilt for choices


CLP 10/08/2020

Social Distance

We had enjoyed the fish and chips

With a glass of white wine

Our meal only slightly tainted by the whiff of corona virus, Covid-19 in the air

The sterile formica tables and clinical strip-lighting

Could not protect our conversation from being infected

Along with eighty percent of those about us

With the impending sense of gloom


So we jumped in the car and set off for a bar

Turned down a side street and came to a halt

A man lying in the road, rolling in a puddle, perhaps of his own making

Unable to get any leverage, to even get close to vertical

‘Is he ill?’ I asked, “Very drunk” my brother warned

“Are you alright, mate?” I offered as an opener

I handed the speechless man the carton of cigarettes from the floor, “Here, I’ll help you up.”


I gripped the shoulders of his jacket

Braced my legs, heaved him to his feet

He came up off the tarmac like a bag of grain

Surprisingly, with ease, he weighed nothing

He made left, I steered him right

So he might use the wall away from traffic

To lead him on, steady himself, slow his next fall


He wanted to shake my hand, make contact

Recognise the help I’d given

I patted him on the arm

“Take care of yourself” I called

As he repeated his unseeing thanks

Stumbling on as we drove off

Our social distance under-scored


n.b. Social distancing is the phrase being used to describe how citizens of the UK should interact, i.e. no closer than arm‘s length to reduce the likelihood of catching Covid-19 from an infected person.

This is not to be confused with getting too close to people of the lower classes, such as the voting public, as practised by Old Etonians on assuming high office, such as Her Majesty’s Prime Minister.

If I see someone laid out in the road, I have a choice. I’ll decide.

CLP 12/03/2020