Night life

The night-side of life is the kingdom of the sick 
I have fallen into your darkness  

My throat is sore
Unwelcome growth is infecting me

Flourishing inside of me
Id love some of that Calpol stuff from the spoon 

Today I was a 
Shrivel  

A presented face. All else lay wilting
I am on the bad side

Where health is a distant sun 
Setting away from here  

I want your warmth little yellow thing
Find me 

Filey, Yorkshire

Senses soaked by salt permit my rest
Hills crunch into stretched out shores peering out to sea 
And as yellow spreads in the fields, people of the land meet 
In pubs like front rooms, where the pull of pace 
Has lost its grip, and dreams of equal importance 
Remain in the minds of honest folk 
Who without cause for concern go about their way 
With hope for the day  
Trusting it will come

Montmatre, Paris

I walk, without thought, upon the past beneath 
Grey brick cobbled for foot and wood
Now rubber and road lay siege
To Montmatre

I think, without care, of the chattering minds 
Swapping tales of today 
Some stick in the mind 
Others float with the wind 

I care, without worry, for these people   
The kindness and beauty of their place 
I rest knowing it will repeat
This love has been here before

Bong of the Bells

Bells ring
In-between the regular silence 
That deafens this place 
And heals it 

Bong
Bong 
Bong 
Bong

And now the 4pm breeze 
Slips it’s joyous cold hands 
Down my waiting neck
Just in time 

Patience  
Rewarded 
As we reach the crescendo  
Of a day well spent 

Now an evening well earned  
To sip 
On these heavenly bells 
Silence after silence

Lights of the Parisian night

Lights of the Parisian night 
Draw shapes on the ceiling 
Dancing fairies 
Who only after dark 
Play in the rooms of sleepy travellers 

And us the sun rises from the east 
The playful pixies 
Slip away to sleep 
Only to pause 
For the visitors of tomorrow 

Decide

How do I know this intuition 
Of equal and opposite direction 
The push and pull of mind and heart 
Won’t be the undoing of me

This self 
I am learning to hear 
And evaluate objectively 
Stands like a criminal on trial 

How to lead with heart
And mind 
And clarity  
I question  

Still, the battering winds swirl ahead 
They make their signal 
A decision only I can make 
With no good outcome

Now the procedure is complete 
The advice is taken  
It is only me 
Yes or no 

The River Bank | Pt 2

Rachel’s house was small. It was the last house at the end of the street. A typical square building with a triangle on top. When Rachel’s dad died years ago, Jilly used the money she got from the insurance company to pay for the house in full. It was just the two of them now, but at least they didn’t need to worry about money anymore.

Jack had come over after school like he usually did. Their friendship was understated. They didn’t play together like the other kids, but it didn’t matter. Reading, watching old tv and slowly talking in the garden was enough. 

‘Funny how Miss Prichard looks at you’, Rachel said. ‘I think it is to see if she’s saying the right things to the rest of us. She knows that if you don’t get it then we won’t’. 

Jack learnt things quickly. He’d always liked school because it came naturally. The school part anyway. ‘I’m not sure, it’s like she watches everyone’ Jack muttered, trying to brush off the backhanded complements. 

‘It’s time to go’ shouted Neil, who was in the other room with Jilly. Neil had been at Jillys house before Jack arrived after school. Jilly and Neil had become friends since Rachel’s dad died.

The door slammed behind them as they left. Rachel watched them both leave from the upstairs window. But as she turned around she spotted the work Miss Prichard had left Jack for tomorrow. Without thinking, Rachel stuffed Jacks work in a bag and raced out to catch up. 

When she got to Jack’s house, the back door was slightly ajar. She used the back door to get in most of the time – but it was usually locked. She knocked, but no one answered so Rachel strode in and up the stairs to Jacks room at the top of the house. 

It took Rachel a moment to understand what was going on when she got to the top. A muffled voice that sounded like Jacks was moaning into a pillow as a hard hollow sound repeatedly cracked down on what sounded like skin. Rachel froze but not on purpose. She’d never heard a sound like that before – her gut told her what it might be. 

‘Jack?’, Rachel called his name from the landing – setting herself to rush in. But the sound stopped and then the door slowly opened and Jack came out. ‘Ah I left it, damn, sorry’ said Jack. Despite his bloodshot eyes, jacks voice was settled. ‘Are you ok’? Said Rachel ‘I thought I heard …’ every thing is fine thank you and thanks for bringing this over’. ‘Ok’ said Rachel. 

On the way back Rachel struggled to understand it all. But about half way home, she decided she needed to go back to Jacks house to find out. She also decided she needed to go when Jack wasn’t home. Something wasn’t right and if Jack wouldn’t tell her – she’d have to find out herself. 

A summer past

Summer haze came and went 
Too fast 
Only with time can flowers of youth 
Bloom the colours of age 
Only now can I know 
What was lost 

Simple rise and fall 
Gave cadence to days 
In the endless sun
That rolled into weeks 
Faster than we
Could care to notice 

The landscape 
Bore ponds of fish 
Fields of tall horses 
And nestled in woods 
A hut   
Our summer home 

This place
Revealed my colours 
Good and bad  
Self-discovery of another kind 
Far from home 
No shade to hide   

The contradiction   
That my inexperienced hands of time 
Could not grip events passed 
Tortures todays waking hours 
What cruelty 
To suffer  

How might I use this experience 
In my future 
Other than to note 
Understanding  
That cannot be taught 
But must be learnt

Tracks

Behind the doctors house I used to play 
In woodland empty of adult thoughts 
A space for this curiosity 
To uncover secrets of the forest 

I’d follow tracks of hidden creatures 
Left for me to follow until
The scent ran out 
And the game was up 

Our travels were silent back then
We came here long ago
Searching village to village 
For place

Until the swap
Caravan for bits of brick 
To settle was to 
Stop

Now I follow 
The trail of creatures 
Who roam this place
As I once did

Dur Jardin

These gardens tell stories of times past
When nothing but trowel and hand
Laid the spine of petals
In the hardening earth

Our arrival by car is abrupt in this peace
Out of place amongst the shoes and legs
That transported families of neighbouring towns
To lie amongst colours

Pale pinks laid across the Entrer
A sea of green hill rolls down to the dark river
An uninviting strip of wet habitat
Left to rats of the water patrolling up and down

Broken benches and old ornaments litter the river bank
And contrast the sweeping paths tying the gardens hard work
To its veins

The fields are at work
Raw edges and biting temperature
Cut potential from a jardin
Of perpetual thirst

We settle in the shade of two great trees
Baring the brunt of this sun so we may rest
But not for long
We disappear across the uneven path

Cut out through an open gate
And return to our boiling car
Under the church spire
Watching our every move