Dream #22

Which bed is this? I wake unsure

no standard hotel shape to reassure

my musty head is somewhere secure

familiar start to a new day

with an unfamiliar face

who has just pulled close the door

behind her I hold a memory

of shapes and words recalled too late

that was not her name

she was kind enough

not to complain

we both had our reasons

not quite the same

as my dear friend once explained

everyone has their own

Love story

~

CLP 19/06/2021

Dream #21

heavy rain’s half-time shuffle on the roof

mixes with the jazz ostinato beat

of towering street lamps flicking by

wheels slip over pools along the carriageway

sheets of spray from trucks misting view

red rear lights, pairs of dazzling white

approach, recede

dashboard indicators green

there’s a song replaying on the radio

today becomes yesterday

00:00

as soon as tomorrow becomes now

vehicles stretch apart, further apart, disappear

then this is the last one tracing the road

deep into the city’s orange glow

pointless waiting at crossroads for change

illuminated arrows pointing home

weighed down by the return of gravity

I step through the door

the post on the hall floor

dates how long I’ve been away

a web loose-hanging at the window

holds small black silk bundles

where the spider’s been making hay

~

CLP 18/06/2021

Off the Street

I kept out of it

Today the echoed footsteps

Were not made by me

~

CLP 10/10/2020

On the Road XV

Thousands drive alone

Thoughts enclosed by metal boxes

Perfect preparation for the isolation

That inevitably comes

Where no shoulder, hard nor soft

Accepts your bones’ tears

~

CLP 07/08/2020

At the Margin

At the margin of day and night

Of land and sea and sky

Where fit I?

.

CLP 10/07/2020

On the Edge

Out here

The East Anglian landscape is so flat

That the curvature of Earth is apparent

And so here is not so flat at all

A world of its own

Even the sea moves on a different level

From beyond the dykes and shingle banks

Winds from North and East hold sway

Mighty oaks are bent to their will

Brow beaten in perpetual homage to Njord

This vast, sparse expanse

Denuded of shape

A dinner plate piled high

With sky

.

n.b. We are not alone; it just feels like that sometimes.

n.n.b. Njord was the Norse god of wind and sea, (and wealth).

On the Inside

Thoughts held tight

Multiply in solitude’s echo chamber

These flies hatch from eggs laid deep

Kept cool by winter

Until Spring’s first warmth seeps in

Here they are

Buzzing, banging on glazing

Repeating knock out blows

Frenzied attempts to pass the glass

Crashing time after time

Despite concussive impacts

Leaving sickness, giddiness

Confusion.

.

See the window is open!

Let them fly free

.

n.b. We are not alone.

CLP 25/03/2020