Sometimes it's good to think about things in a different way, try to see things from another's point of view. Some of these are from my life, the rest - imagined. I leave you to decide which is which.
A Comfortable Woman
She stood there
looking at me,
her eyes warm and smiling,
her gaze caressing me.
Tall, yes, quite tall,
but no beanpole;
quite the reverse.
Her plump face,
her ample womanly body,
brought to mind
a well stuffed easy chair
strong and welcoming.
Walking towards me
she reached out and,
sinking into her embrace,
I nestled my head against
the extravagant bosom,
listened to the beat,
beat, beat of her heart;
a heart as big and generous
as the body it served.
Blanketed by her warmth,
soothed by her softness,
I was a child again,
wrapped snugly in
a down-filled comforter.
11.11. 2001
The Back of Your Neck
There's a little place on the back of your neck
just below your hair
and it seems to weave a kind of spell
whenever I kiss you there.
Is it that old black magic, love,
that sends you into a spin?
Or simply a normal reaction to
the feel of my lips on your skin?
The warmth of my breath as I linger there
and very gently blow
or the merest touch of the tip of my tongue?
I don't suppose you know.
Whatever it is I love it
and the slender curve of your neck
and the air of vulnerability
that makes me a quivering wreck.
It doesn't seem possible one little spot
seemingly so benign
could exert such power over a man
and drive him out of his mind.
Dec 2001
Ode to the Woman With Chestnut Hair.
I see you out here every day
but you never even look my way
a lovely young woman with chestnut hair
and just a hint of Titian there
sparkling eyes and a ravishing smile
you're clearly a woman born to beguile.
There's something about the way you walk
with a toss of your head as you laugh and talk
and yet there's a hint of sadness too -
tell me, is something troubling you?
Something terrible, something small?
Is there anything I can do at all?
Every day as I wait for the bus
I dream there might be a chance for us
but you pass me by as I'm waiting there
and I can only stand and stare
for I am nervous and you are bold
and you are young while I grow old.
Oh beautiful woman with chestnut hair
What will become of one so rare?
I fear you will marry some merchant banker
- I hesitate to be much franker -
who will not appreciate all your grace
oh woman with the enchanting face.
I'd love to be able to make you see
how much there is to a man like me
but for all I've learned in all my years
I haven't outgrown my boyhood fears
you'll never call me on your mobile phone
as I stand and wait for for the bus alone.
And that's as it should be I've no doubt
for youth comes in as age goes out
but possibly one day I'll receive
a look perhaps, however brief,
that says you've seen me standing there
oh beautiful girl with the chestnut hair.
© Dec 2001
Prevarication
Ah, no, she said, not this time...
You can't, she said, not now...
Stay here, she said, I'll call you
It's too late anyhow.
It's just, she said, you're busy...
I thought, she said, you'd need...
Some time, she said, to study
I want you to succeed.
Oh, right, I said, you're saying...
I see, I said, OK...
Is this, I said, for long then?
And then I thought, no way...
You've got, I said, another?
I've been, I said, replaced?
Would you, I said, have told me?
as she stood ashen-faced.
Ah, well, she said, about that...
I'll make, she said, amends...
I would, she said, have told you
And we can still be friends.
Oh no, I said, not this time.
We can't, I said, not now.
Go home, I said, don't call me.
It's really too late now.
© Dec 2001
Down But Not Out.
Regularly we assemble
and each observe
the downcast eyes
the drooping stance
of the dejected,
the shifty with their
hasty furtive glances,
a few hard stares
from the brazen
toughing it out.
Reluctantly we advance,
shuffling, hands in pockets
to sign away our dignity,
admit defeat,
but Hey!
for a little longer
we will not starve,
our families will eat.
Dec 2001
Channel Crossing
Out in the English Channel in a small twin engined boat,
the fog, a real pea-souper, gripped us by the throat.
It came down very quickly and left us blinded there
in one of the busiest shipping lanes just about anywhere.
We could hear the fog horns out there and the sea was getting rough
and making cocoa down below was difficult enough
but getting it up up to the man at the helm was even more of a fight.
I swallowed the rising biliousness, but probably looked a sight.
Working on the charts below was not an easy job
and the weather forecasts didn't help - my head began to throb.
Who the heck had suggested this? I wouldn't get into a row
but whoever it was had better believe he owed me big-time now.
We'd left the Isle of Wight, you see, on a beautiful sunny day;
Cowes was full of yachstmen just waiting to sail away.
The skipper ignored the radio, which had given us the news
so here we were in a little boat, with fog instead of views.
We'd planned to visit the Channel Isles, Alderney, we'd said,
but the thought of sailing past it was filling me with dread.
We could end up in mid-Atlantic, drifting around unseen
with little food or water on board and all of us turning green.
So I plotted a course for Cherbourg (a skill of which I can boast)
right across the channel, right there on the Normandy coast.
As the skipper changed direction, following this new course,
the guy on the bow with a fog horn can was sounding pretty hoarse.
Out across the channel we went, and how that spray can sting!
Freighters and liners were sailing past but we never saw a thing.
Just the deep sad sound of foghorns came eerily through the mist
as if we had travelled back in time to some prehistoric tryst.
How we ever made it across without being crushed or drowned
is something I'll never understand, but we made it to solid ground.
I guess it was down to providence, well that's what I choose to believe,
but if anyone ever suggests it again I'll make my excuses and leave.
Jan 2002
She
She comes to me, gently smiling
her eyes so dark and beguiling.
What manner of woman is this
whose expression suggests such bliss?
In accents quite sublime
she tells me to take my time;
holding my hand in hers
"you're doing fine," she purrs
and, with a little persuasion,
I rise to the occasion.
Soon I begin to sweat;
I'll get the hang of this yet!
No matter how hard she tries
I see it there in her eyes:
Now don't get carried away
that's quite enough for today.
I admit defeat as she grins.
The physiotherapist wins.
© 2002
Sound Association.
I went to the market yesterday
to buy myself some plums
and standing there in the marketplace
I heard the sound of drums.
Gradually the blare of brass
was added to the noise
and people stopped and people stared
to watch the marching boys.
And the uniforms and the polished boots
and the drumsticks beating time
produced a stirring in the blood
and a fever in the mind.
Step by step they marched away
till the band was heard no more
and I bought my plums and I went back home
and locked the outer door.
I stood for a while just trembling
at the memories I'd thought dead
it's amazing how the sound of drums
plays havoc with your head.
I went to the kitchen and made some tea
and I heard the radio play
and the twenty first century music
brought me back to the present day.
© Dec/2001
The Watcher
Unobserved
in the long night hours
I watch her.
Engrossed
she is unaware that
I watch her.
Moonlight
cold and clear
presents
a captivating study
in monochrome.
Hushed and still
afraid almost to breathe
I watch her.
Oblivious
she sits serene as
I watch her.
Her arms enfold
the tiny child
our child
their eyes locked
in awe and wonder.
Proud yet humbled
my heart overflowing
I watch her.
Dec 2001
The Western Wall.
I stood before the massive blocks
of mellowed ancient stone
and spent some time regarding them
in silent contemplation.
Two thousand years have passed since first
these stones were cut and laid;
two thousand years of history -
it's something of a mystery
they stand here yet, unmoved.
These building blocks so old and golden
tell of another time.
speak to us of long ago,
of old religion, priestly robes,
the gold menorah and the ark;
of ancient laws and promises
and faith that made a nation.
And wedged into the cracks between
were countless little messages:
heartfelt prayers and supplications
left behind by pilgrims.
Others there moved rhythmically,
blackcoated, bearded, side locks bobbing,
fur trimmed hats and yarmulkes.
I stood and watched these men at prayer,
sensed the immensity - the weight -
of centuries of desolation
now stored up within these stones
and, all unbidden, shared their grief,
their overwhelming sorrow.
Jan 2002
As Hostilities Cease
I watched a man rejoice
as he returned to what was
little more than rubble
and marvelled
at the indomitable courage
which is the epitome of
the universal lust for life.
March 2002
A Memory of Jamaica
I stood alone in the shallows
on the shoreline of Jamaica.
Montego Bay as I recall
was where she'd had me take her.
On the beach some fishermen
were laughing in their boats
and I watched the shadowy shapes of rays
come swimming by, real close.
And as I stood in the turquoise sea
just soaking up the heat
dozens of tiny little fish
were nibbling at my feet.
White, they were, with yellow fins;
attractive little creatures.
It's just a memory I have
of one of the island's beaches.
© 2002.
Pennine Journey
A narrow winding road,
a drystone wall on either side,
cuts through rock-strewn velvet slopes
of purple, green and brown.
Now and then, here and there,
the woolly shape of wandering sheep
- Motorists Beware! - cause
heart-in-mouth encounters.
A lowering leaden sky lies
heavy on the hilltops while
a giant duvet, somewhat soiled,
showers us with diamond drops
to decorate the windscreen.
Higher now, and suddenly
the landscape disappears
earthbound cloud surrounds us
and all is hushed and still.
For a while the going's slow
creeping, peering as we go
headlights on and dipped.
A gradual descent and with it
virtual blindness at an end
smiles accompany relief
as unexpected sunshine
greets our gaze.
July 2002
Would You Mind?
If I hold your hand would you object?
If I kissed it would you mind?
When we say goodnight will you expect
a kiss of a different kind?
It's been so long since I wooed a maid
a lifetime now, it seems
it's little wonder I'm afraid
to act upon my dreams.
The wife of my youth is dead and gone
I miss her every day
for years the sun no longer shone
in any worthwhile way.
How on earth can I explain?
The day I met you here
I saw the sunshine through the rain
the mists began to clear;
overhead or in my mind
I felt a rainbow form.
Who would have thought that I could find
such shelter from the storm?
So if I'm clumsy please forgive
the awkward things I do;
there's nothing that I wouldn't give
to make you happy too.
© 2002
