Seeking shelter from a devouring wind ...

One smouldering autumn, I read The Street of Crocodiles - 

Late at night I'd hear the sound of Klezmer music -

I'd open the window to hear the sad voices of the shetls - 

I'd see before me the bloodlands of Mitteleuropa - 

I'd look for a number on my wrist - 

Today I recalled the pinched face of the wonder working writer - 

I'd bought Henryk Grynberg's Drohobycz, Drohobycz - 

I was standing in the sunlit street, safe in the innocent seaside town - 

I imagined myself under a different sky, hearing a cruel language, seeking shelter from a devouring wind - 

15.12

Thursday 31 March 2016

Swanage

Dorset 

I feel as though these moments will last forever ...

Each morning, I gather pine cones in the churchyard - 

The bright grass covers familiar bones - 

I read names on the tilting gravestones - 

A box tomb shelters early blue bells - 

Rooks circle the tower - a white jet touches heaven - 

Later, I saw up fallen branches - 

I can smell the sweet torn wood - 

The saw belonged to my dad - it remembers the strength and knowledge of his grip - 

I stack up the sawn lengths of wood -  

I listen to a black bird singing - 

Moles tunnel through the rich earth - 

The river runs through gentle fields - 

I feel as though these moments will last forever - 

Tuesday 29 March 2016

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset 

Each woman wore a dress of flowers ...

The last time I'd been spellbound by Botticelli was in the Uffizi, one raw February, before my hair became white - 

I knew the gorgeous figures in Primavera would haunt my dreams - 

I plucked the sweet apples from the dark trees - perfumed breath caressed my skin - 

Now I gazed at Dante and Beatrice, their souls dissolving in the empyrean - 

Once more I was overcome with tenderness and wonder - 

I'd seen the poet, guided by Virgil, make his way through the lowest depths of hell - 

I'd seen him ascend Mount Purgatory, recognising myself amongst the sinners - 

Now, standing in this high ceilinged room, I felt myself bathed in joyous light - 

Angels were flying amongst the glass towers - 

Each man I saw was a poet - each woman wore a dress of flowers - 

Friday March 18 2016

Botticelli and Treasures from the Hamilton Collection

The Courtald Gallery 

Somerset House

London  

 

Becoming invisible ...

Before the Delacroix, I sat with murmuring diners in The Cafe in the Crypt - 

Their gentle voices filled the spaces beneath the arches - 

When he walked in a different world, my dad had first taken me here - 

We'll go up to the Smoke he'd said -  

He'd sat here, over the polished bones, The Times folded up in his raincoat pocket - 

Later, we'd looked at Seurat's Bathers at Asnieres in the National Gallery - 

Now, wearing a faded coat, I remembered those moments here - 

The worn stone beneath my feet was the same - 

There were the names I'd read - they were still there - 

But the chair next to me was empty -

The man who might sit upon it had become invisible - 

All that was left of him was a shape made of air and memory - 

Friday 18 March 2016

Cafe in The Crypt

St Martins in the Fields 

London

Winning the Dubai Sheema Classic ...

Richard sheltered in the quarry to take the call - 

A tipster murmured secrets - 

The wind shook lichened trees - 

Later, we watched the Dubai Sheema Classic on Channel 4 racing - 

The beautiful horses galloped under the desert skies - 

It was as though they bore angels on their backs, not men - 

Richard's horse * came in at 7 to 4 - 

The Porter's on you I said -

It was a steering job Richard said - 

Note

* A five year old, Postphoned 

Saturday 27 March 2016

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset

The wind shook the chimneys ...

I sat on a bench looking at the wild empty sea - 

I could hear the roaring of the waves -

I could taste their salt on my tongue - 

The wind shook the tall chimneys of the coastguard cottages -  

 

Low clouds touched the chalk hills - sea frets veiled the cliffs -  

Fossils held ancient memory - 

Bleached whale bones fenced a garden - 

Lichens patterned the stone walls of boathouses with strange colours - 

Sea birds were brave shapes in the turbulent air - 

I got up from my seat to meet with Richard - 

He had money on Postphoned in the Dubai Sheema Classic - 

12.09

Saturday 26 March 2016

Kimmeridge Bay

Dorset 

Note

The bench commemorates the life of Martin Hexham, who was born in 1964 and died in 1988

I remembered that I was born on Good Friday ...

The sun was low in the Good Friday sky -

Visitors' Qashqais filled the car park - 

I saw five crows flying above the chalk cliffs - 

The cove was a semi circle of shining water - there were white stones beneath our feet - 

Long shadows touched the sea - 

I remembered that I was born on Good Friday - 

I counted all my years - 

I picked up a flawless stone, hiding it in my pocket - 

Small waves broke upon the beach - 

17.30

Friday 25 March 2015

Lulworth Cove 

Dorset 

Utopia came closer each day

The first thing I saw was a white wall covered by an arras of high vis jackets - 

Each jacket was emblazoned with significant words - 

On one jacket, I read the words Utopian Security, on another, Law Abiding Citizen - 

I wandered through the gallery past tokens of malign futures - 

Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling over bizarre installations - 

Over a fireplace there was a picture of a hollow eyed pilgrim - 

I read more unsettling words -

Outside was the city - 

Police cars howled in the edgelands - 

Orange light filled Ballardian spaces - 

Utopia came closer each day - 

13.20

Thursday 17 March 2016

Venturing Beyond, Grafitti and the Everyday Utopias of the Street

Somerset House

London 

I headed for the Botticellis ...

Crossing Fountain Court, I thought that I was in Italy - 

I could have been idling, on my way to a palazzo, a copy of The Pisan Cantos in my pocket - 

I pictured myself, gazing at my reflection in a faded mirror - musicians were playing viols in a candlelit ballroom - 

Frederick Rolfe would be skulking in a shadowy piazetta - 

*

Noble galleries overlooked the courtyard I stood in - 

Slender girls sat at wrought iron cafe tables - 

All around me was the neo classical palace - 

I gathered my coat about me, and headed for the Botticellis - 

13.13

Thursday 17 March 2016

Somerset House

London 

Visiting The Museum of Innocence ...

When I crossed the river, I knew that I had to think about my life -  

I made my way to The Museum of Innocence in Somerset House - 

Each case of wood and glass evoked a chapter of Orhan Pamuk's novel - 

Soldiers in dark tunics feasted amongst pine trees - coffee grounds filled a fragile cup - a small crowd gazed at a steamer with two funnels - government buildings were like austere temples - 

A drawer was filled with folded bank notes and family snapshots - the lamp from a louche cafe illuminated share certificates and tram tickets -  

Memory was like this, I thought, precious assemblages, tiny brightly lit worlds in the dark - 

I wondered what tender relics would illustrate my life - 

13.30

Thursday 17 March 2016

Somerset House

London

I would lie on freezing stone ...

I left the creatives sipping expresso machiatos on the riverside terrace - 

A police helicopter flew over the city - 

The ancient river fell with the tide - 

Homeless people begged for small coins on the Golden Jubilee Bridge - 

A woman with an accordion was moved on by two Police Community Support Officers - 

Where are you going now they asked her - where are you going now? - 

I walked along the South Bank, stopping my ears to sad songs - 

I stopped at the second hand book market under Waterloo Bridge - 

Japanese girls picked up Arrow Paperbacks - 

I bought a foxed blue Penguin - 

I'd long wanted to read The Quest for Corvo - 

The pages were as damp and cold as fallen leaves - 

I placed the book in my pocket, and crossed over the river - 

Clouds covered the sky - I shivered, imagining sleeping on the streets - 

I would lie on freezing stone, looking up at glass towers filled with light - 

12.47

Thursday 17 March 2016

South Bank

London

Asking the Sunday question ...

Whenever I come back with my mum and dad from church, my dad says that one belongs out the back - 

I'll wheel the second sholley out to the garage - 

I'll lift up the garage door, wheeling the sholley inside - 

Garden tools lean against a wall - a metal ladder waits for windows - 

The electric mower remembers summer lawns - 

Inside my dad's sea chest are his chippy's tools - 

I'll hear once more the sound of a gentle box plane - 

There's a bottle of champagne, left over from my wedding - 

Inside the house, my dad will ask Anne the Sunday question - 

What time will dinner be ? 

12.30

Sunday 20 March 2016

Staunton Road

Havant 

There were I phones in our hands, Instagrams before our eyes ...

The Waterloo train was drawing near to the iconic terminus - 

I gazed out of the carriage window at the anarchic world city - 

How different it was from my quiet lichened world -

Glass towers reflected the late morning sunlight - 

Bizarre graffiti decorated Victorian brickwork - 

My fellow rail travellers gathered up their possessions - 

Wheeled suitcases were positioned in readiness for the journey's end - 

I caught a glimpse of the London Eye - 

There was the MI5 Building, a reef of spooks * 

I saw brave leafless trees - 

I stood upon the platform -

It was bright day, so we could not see the khaki clad ghosts we rushed past - there were I phones in our hands, Instagrams before our eyes - 

* aka Ceausescu Towers, Babylon on Thames 

12.00

Thursday 17 March 2016

Waterloo Station

London

 

Don stroked his courtier's beard ...

Can you get me the cheapest open return? I asked Don - 

Whilst Don was checking his screens, my eye was caught by the station library - 

There was a shelf of Sci Fi shockers by the rack of pocket timetables - 

Don looked more like a wary Tudor courtier than ever - 

The Weymouth train left platform 1 - 

I picked up a shiny horror called The Edge of Reason - 

Here you are Don said - a special offer - it will save you 11 quid - 

I'd made a point of always being respectful to Don - 

Cheers Don I said - 

Don stroked his courtier's beard - 

If you come back Saturday he said - there's works - a detour through Thames Ditton -  

11.30

Wednesday 16 March 2016

Wareham Railway Station 

Dorset 

He was a sorcerer, that poet, I thought ...

Early this morning, before seven, I saw a crow - 

I was outside the warm house, in the still garden - 

Inside, Anne and Tessa were drinking green tea - 

There was wood ash on the hearth from last night's fire - 

Words were hoarded in foxed volumes - 

I'd looked up to see the crow - 

There he was, gazing down at my world from the tower - 

How could I describe this crow, I thought, without thinking of Ted Hughes' dark burning verses - 

He was a sorcerer, that poet, I thought - 

06.35

Tuesday 15 March 2016

The garden

The Old School House

East Stoke 

Dorset 

John the key cutter ...

I bought some red shoelaces this morning from John the key cutter - 

How's your health then? I asked - 

John looked up from some clever whirling machine - 

There was a notice on the door apologising for closures due to hospital appointments - 

I'd often spoken to John - he was part of my life in this gentle town -

John had spent his boyhood in Cyprus - those years were a golden chapter in the book of his life - 

I'd pictured the serviceman's son, swimming in the wine dark sea, growing tall in ancient sunlight - 

I stood dreaming in the small shop - I could smell the resin from dark pines - 

There were figs to eat, proud words to hear sung about heroes - 

But John was talking to me now - 

It's a long term thing he said - 

11.00

Monday 14 March 2016

Wareham 

 

I saw my face painted by the sea ...

I put down my Americano - 

Ocean's mother had smiled one of her gentle ageless smiles - 

She makes you feel she knows you Anne said - 

I remembered her swimming away from the beach at the equinox - 

Her son had gone before her - 

I'd seen them, swimming towards the crimson sun - 

Now South Beach was bathed in March sunlight - 

Three pine trees overlooked the sand - 

The tide uncovered shells and flawless stones - 

Later we walked round Redend Point - 

A small bird flew across the mouth of a cave - 

The rock pools were like dark mirrors - 

I saw my face painted by the sea - 

15.00

Saturday 12 March 2016

Joe's Cafe

South Beach

Studland 

Dorset 

 

Waiting for a blackbird's song ...

Mist lapped the walls of the house - 

I'd been been dreaming of tropic seas - 

I woke to a colourless world - 

Chill meadows were cloaked in silence - 

The sun was a pale fruit above the noiseless river - 

I saw a spider's web strung with pearls - 

A blackbird opened its yellow beak - 

I waited for its song - 

09.30

Saturday 12 March 2016

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset 

Dark feathers were falling from the sky ...

Night had visited the small seaside town -

Dark feathers were falling from the sky -  

Silence filled lamplit streets - 

Wood smoke rose from salt rimed chimneys - 

Waves lapped against old stones -

The quiet sea reflected the lights of the pier - 

Glasses brimmed with porter in timeworn snugs - 

Paintings of hares graced empty galleries  - 

I'd heard David Bowie singing in the red wounded beast - 

His voice came to me from beyond the dark -

I can't give everything away he sang - 

18.40

Thursday 10 March 2016

Swanage

Dorset

Rainbows End ...

I bought a green keffiyeh this morning in Rainbows End - 

The louche shop was a warm cave tapestried with strange garments - 

A canary yellow shirt caught my eye -

I tried on a bottle green coat with deep pockets - 

Dresses like rich cobwebs hung from the ceiling - 

Perfumed shirts brushed against my face - 

I looked at a birthday card with ironic verses - 

I saw myself in a long mirror - 

Behind me stood my younger selves - 

Before me were my future selves, each one becoming fainter, yet more precious -

12.00

Thursday 10 March 2016

Rainbows End

Swanage 

Dorset 

Dreams hidden in their hair ...

I've been snuffling and dozing all day, lolling in my chair, my watch on my wrist counting the drowsy hours - 

I've got a cold I tell Anne - 

Are you at death's door? she asks - 

Thanks for the tea I croak pitiably -

Later this afternoon, I'll lie in a deep scalding bath, like Novikov in Life and Fate - 

I'll make myself some honey and lemon - I'll cosset myself before a kindly fire - 

I'll throw pine cones upon the burning logs - 

I've just finished reading American Gods - 

There are still strange names upon my tongue - 

In the wild wood, I'll see the gods I've made - 

They'll wait for me amongst the birch trees, their shining bodies wrapped round with ivy, dreams hidden in their hair - 

14.00

Wednesday 9 March 2016

The Old School House 

East Stoke

Dorset