HERE'S TO US.

Here’s to the Dads who last the course

And never have to pass go

Or justify the afterglow

Of their achievements.

Here’s to forgetting the cream that rose to the top

And clotted,

Or forgot the meaning

Of promise keeping.

Here’s to the faithful

Who never seek praise

Or validation for doing

What for them seems usual.

Here’s to ignoring those who find it difficult to commit,

And, ironically, the opposite,

Whereby they can’t let go of what’s gone

In case it’s longed for.

Here’s to the multitude who do daily

And appear to sail through

The storm of ordinary downfalls,

When it’s all they can do to stay afloat.

Here’s to dismissing the egotistical masses

Who cast chameleon eyes

At all times in search of praise

That even bats couldn’t catch.   

Here’s to the beautiful in duty

Who never ask why

But always answer when

Responsibility’s vileness rises.

And here’s to remembering the enemies

Of life,

Who never cease to amaze me

With their eagerness to please.    

WINDING DOWN.

Words are falling from me like a seasonal peeling

As time has caught up with my vocabulary

And overtaken the interpretations

That up to this point had

Inspired my writing.

Still it’s been a good run and the fun of it has done

Wonders for my confidence that recently

Had been feeding on the bones

Of old allometries at the

Bottom of me;

But I grew with the slew of connections that fetched

A subject matter’s finer points from

The waiting room and stitched

Them to a framework of

Broader forms,

And once up and running I’ve been able to sun in

The afterglow of knowing that my best

Was dressed even better

Than before and called

Out in the heat

And stood its ground and found ample appreciation

From those who’ve shown it previously,

And from people who’ve not been

A part of my past work’s

Asking.

But now the tank is emptying and I’m left to tend

To loose ends until the inevitable

Tide of idleness sweeps

The findings of this

Year away.

FINDING THE PERFECT PICTURE.

I’ve got

Fewer opportunities

To photograph him,

So when I do get them

I never let them

Go

Without ensuring

I’ve taken more images

Than manageable

Without neglecting

His

Subsequent needs

Or infringing upon

His air space too long

And pestering the best

Of him

Until he’s wrestling

With the nearest thing

In order to bend

Beyond the reach of

The lens

And end up blocking

My best possible shot

And therefore causing

Me to take more

Time

Which simply winds

Him up further and

He hides behind

The highest furniture

Whereby

I decide that’s it

For the day and lay

My camera down till

He’s forgotten what

I’ve got.

INTO THE WILDERNESS.

As we slid down to the path beside the river

It became apparent that the recent weather extremes

Of May sun slamming against April greys,

Followed by the usual June rains,

Had spurred the earth atop the river bank

To pump out wild plants of all shapes and sizes

So that many yellow wild flowers crowded

Around a haze of white crowned daises

And lithe grasses with tall fan tails

Clashed with a mass of seed tipped pasture

As green spears leered at his eye line

And defied us to see clearly ahead

As we hacked our way through the vine like

Mesh that stretched across the once clear track

That meandered towards a manicured lawn

Where people usually watched the boats go by

As they tried not to slide down an incline

That eventually ended in a rusted fence

Erected by the Port Authorities to stop

The unsuspecting tourist or drunken local

From dropping off the wharf’s edge

And pledging their body to the eternal tide

Of the Ouse whereby they’d arrive

In the Humber sometime after night fall

Just as the evening jumpers plunged from the bridge

And together head out to the North Sea

And Europe’s inevitable certainty

And wouldn’t that be an awkward story to tell

In years to come when people asked after us

When all we ever wanted to do was go for a walk

To the park and back again across the gentle

Rolling slopes that hold calamity at bay.

DOWN BUT NOT OUT.

The week

Has leaked

Into a weekend

Spent mentioning

Torrential conditions

And summer omissions,

And I’m wishing for inspiration

To ignite a fire behind my eyes

As they appear to have dried out

Since the Jubilee jamboree gleamed

And my imagination’s scenery delighted

In igniting lines of lightning upon my screen.

And I rarely allow the bare bones of my prose

To impose themselves beneath my page’s velum

But I’m telling you now I’m well on my arse and about

To pass the point of doubt where only tumbleweed breeds

And seeds creep even deeper into the creases of uncertainty

Until all that’s left for me do is sit and stew upon what I’ve missed.

But let us not dwell where the devil sells hell’s road maps

To unsuspecting partners in rhyme who’ve timed out,

Because no one is lost enough to cross paths

With the sort of ghosts whose hosts have

Handed over their souls to Old Nick,

And would like to trick you in,

Because whatever fall

You feel yourself

Reeling from

It will never

Be that

Steep.

UNREASONABLE SEASONS.

Sitting indoors it’s quite obvious

That it would be more than appreciated

If a little warmth greeted us

And took the edge off this weather,

Which,

To its credit,

Isn’t doing anything unexpected,

Not in this country anyway,

But has so far been inconsistent

In its dealings with this year’s seasons:

Refusing to ship water in winter,

For instance,

Causing inches

Of topsoil to be spoiled in the process,

And hosepipe bans to be handed out,

And then slinging buckets of the stuff

At spring’s rough exterior

Bringing floods and washouts,

But an end

To the drought

When they said it was without one.

And as per usual May came running

And brought us our annual summer,

Or the one week of heat that’s

Masqueraded as such recently,

And right

On time

Flaming June is wet and gloomy

And expected to herald autumn soon.

THE SUN AND ITS LOVERS.

Venus

Comes between us,

My sun and I,

For the last time in a century,

And although I remember her

Last

Transit

I cannot recall

What it meant to me,

But today I will

Resolve

To cement it

In my memory,

Surrounded as it

Has been

By the Queen’s

Jubilee

And family,

So that when I think

Of her divinity,

Fringed

By the scenery

Of Helios,

I’ll recollect

How well

Her love

 

Casts its spell.

THE QUEEN.

She is a dichotomy; 

The top and bottom of the British character,

And the contradiction in the middle;

Sitting for commitment’s sake

Upon fortune’s worn Coronation chair.

The wealthiest of them all

And yet the one who cares more for the common man

Than any other Lorded sort,

Or elected technician,

And the answer to republican demands.

The defender of a faith that her people

No longer surrender to

Yet whose comforts and certainties

They yearn to return to

Just to feel complete in their isolation.

The head of the finest armed force of them all,

Which has to be these days in order

To ward off the cuts of strutting governments

Who seem to assume that a stock

Of nuclear topped rockets is sufficient.  

The keeper of a thousand years worth

Of the World’s most influential monarchy,

That dominates the breed,

And succeeds simply because of its ability

To change whilst appearing not to.

And as lesser Princesses and courtesans

Have come and gone

She has endured and is sure to do so

Because she is the embodiment of honour

And has made the job her own.

OUTSIDE HER DOOR.

She has done more for this country

Than you or I,

Or anyone we will ever know,

And today she’ll be serenaded outside her

Balcony

By a band

Of troubadours thanking

Her gratefully,

And afterwards

A beacon will be lit

To give signal to the commonwealth

That all is healthy here.

And fireworks no doubt will flash passed

The masonry of ages 

On their way into the spaces above;

Showering the crowds below with love’s

Colours

And glows,

And then to follow

A gallery

Of images

Will glimmer upon

The front of the Palace like the grandest

Cinema in town.

And down down down the Mall will come

An even greater multitude

Of people waving Union flags

To pack into the orbit of Victoria;

In glory

And to honour

Elizabeth’s life’s story,

Which echoes

Our own,

And shows

That we belong to something larger

Than ourselves.