Tag Archives: Poems

on autumn

late arrival
early exit
you've left your old clothes
strewn on the street
and forgotten
to shut the door
behind you
there's a terrible draught
thanks for dropping by

~

CLP 03

on light

night time but not dark
city subverts day's rhythym
body clocks changes

~

CLP 03/12/2021

winding

whipping, whistling, slipping through the bedroom window
tugging the curtain
atonal melody
singing over the clumsy beat of a one pound clock
unlatching the door
clicking it closed
sucking it open
pushing it shut
shushing the birch leaves off scratchy branches
crashing something down the street
something not fragile
something not meant to be quite so temporary
something broken

~

CLP 01/12/2021

on time

we would jump on board
be in Paris in three hours
just catch memories

~

n.b. Time was when the passing Eurostar was a symbol of freedom, opportunity and hope. Now it is simply a relic of days when Europe was a place we shared with our Continental cousins, a symbol of loss.

CLP 30/1/2021

on light

all this light about
to be blocked off, deflected
its time to rise up

~

n.b. This medieval city is inexorably being squashed by property developers and a city council happy to see the skyline of church towers and steeples disappear behind a curtain wall of concrete, steel and glass.

CLP 29/11/2021

on time

polite conventions
our coping mechanisms
merely scaffolding

~

n.b. What has form, seems solid, does the job for now, is nothing without foundations. Nuts and bolts rust, we need cement to build tomorrows.

CLP 28/11/2021

on waking

another morning
not enough hours to enjoy
all I've been blessed with

~

n.b. Starting with a heartbeat.

In fond memory of Moira.

CLP 27/11/2021

on possessions

we can own nothing
all become
"personal effects"
our time is borrowed

~

CLP 26/11/2021

on low

emotionally
drained to point of exhaustion
get back on the bike

~

n.b. Or the horse, if that‘s your thing.

CLP 25/11/2021

on Reception

copier repair
man career change to motel
no two days the same

~

n.b. Stopped for a very late night keep-myself-awake-on-the-drive-home cup of tea at a motel in The Fens, heard a life story from boy soldier to village brass band. Classic! Nice one Dale.