Polish Dave ...

It's time to call Polish Dave - 

The cesspit of The Old School House needs emptying - 

Three years ago the gang turned up with their monstrous wagon - 

Sharp crowbars had delved through gravel, lifted the weighty drain covers -

Cigarettes were lit - 

There'd been laughter, talk of mayhem in the soakaways under a country house - 

Polish Dave climbed down a ladder into the reeking world below - 

He needs some fresh air the boss had said - 

13.00

Friday 30 June 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset

The truest sentence I know ...

I'm reading A Moveable Feast - 

In The Salt Pig, I try to think of the truest sentence I know - 

The slim waitress brings me a cappuccino without being asked - 

The town hall clock strikes eleven - 

A few members of the crossword gang are here - 

The young man with the dark glasses says his eyesight is no better - 

The Salvationist who looks like a weather worn mariner is standing outside the Post Office - 

I'd bought a War Cry - 

God Bless he'd said -  

I'd always thought that Hemmingway was overrated - 

Those photographs of him with his beard and boozy grin put me off reading anything he'd written - 

But here it is - that sentence - I'm thinking of it now - 

Memory is hunger - 

There's Hemmingway, poor and happy, with Hadley in Paris - 

For me, too, I thought, there was a time when there was no false spring - 

Summer came one midnight over the fragrant orchards - 

That autumn, golden apples weighed down the gentle trees - 

11.00

Thursday 29 June 2017

The Salt Pig

Wareham 

Dorset 

Music we could only dimly hear ...

We walked through waist high bracken - 

Rain fell from a sky heavy with cloud - 

Dripping greenery chilled us as we approached the Valley of the Stones - 

We skirted Black Down Barn - 

The fragrant earth carried the weight of the roofless walls - 

Cow parsley grew where once slates had kept out the night - 

Foxglove flowers were enamelled by raindrops - 

Before us lay the valley, grey and silent -

Each stone we saw amongst the grass had its name - 

Each folding of the land had its purpose - 

We walked through music we could only dimly hear - 

11.30

Wednesday 28 June 2017

The Valley of the Stones 

Dorset 

I wished my hair was no longer white ...

After my hour in the gym, I sipped a cappuccino in Harry's All Stars Sports Bar - 

Rugby gods ranged over a bright field on the flat screen TVs - 

The yoga ladies ordered flat whites - 

I put down Slade House - 

I'd enjoyed its sly horrorshow - 

Rain was falling upon parched lawns - 

I remembered the salt clinging to my skin, the calm sea, the beach yesterday afternoon - 

One of the yoga ladies came over - 

You look well she said - 

I wished my hair was no longer white - 

So do you I said - 

11.45

Tuesday June 27 2017

Harry's All Stars Sports Bar

Purbeck Sports Centre 

Wareham 

Dorset 

 

My last heartbeat ...

We set up the green deck chairs not far from Joe's -

It was high tide -

Swimming was again a cure for melancholy - 

I felt my heart soothed by the forgiving sea - 

The fine sand beneath my feet knew my skin -

I gazed up at the pale blue sky - 

The waves carried me without complaint - 

Each one was as ancient as the stars -

Each one was as new as my last heartbeat - 

13.30

Monday 26 June 2017

South Beach

Dorset 

The sermon ...

The lay preacher praised the prophet Jeremiah - 

I sat next to my mum and dad - 

Anne had driven us here, past the bus station and Wicks - 

The church was full - 

Canon Tom's Kawasaki was parked outside - 

The sermon came to an end - 

My dad spoke to my mum - 

He might as well have been talking to himself he said - 

10.05

Sunday 25 June 2017

St Faiths

Havant 

Hampshire 

The saxophone ...

Hearing Rob talk about his saxophone, I felt the magic of jazz - 

I imagined myself wearing dark glasses in a shebeen - 

Perhaps I, too, played the saxophone, a tenor saxophone - 

I'd put on a dazzling shirt - 

I'd close my eyes whilst I was playing - 

The golden instrument would fill the room with longing - 

12.00

Saturday 24 June 2017

Swanage 

Dorset

Silent Hammoon ...

Penelope and I gazed at the two bell ropes -

Above us the bells slept with long lived spiders - 

Swallows circled the wooden bellcote - 

Invisible choristers sat in the choir stalls - 

I imagined the nameless craftsmen carving the dark wood, shaping each grape with a knowing blade - 

The flagstones beneath our feet touched the gentle earth - 

Box pews faced the altar - 

Stained glass windows depicted kings and prophets - 

Outside, a yew tree cast silence upon the  grass - 

12.30

Friday 23 June 2017

St Paul's Church 

Hammoon

Dorset

Wearing a gaudy shirt ...

Once I wore a gaudy shirt - 

Annick wore a dress made of summer - 

I'd climb the hill above the drowsy fields - 

I'd follow the waxing moon across the sky - 

I'd sit cross legged with my Scheherazade - 

I'd hear her tales through the fragrant night -  

She'd blow her smoke into my mouth -

The river would reflect the listening stars - 

20.12

Wednesday 22 2017

Salisbury Plain

Wiltshire 

Southsea Deckchairs ...

As we sipped Americanos the tide was falling - 

Boats were left stranded in the warm shallows -

Their keels marked the ribbed sand - 

Long legged girls strode through the knee high waves - 

Dogs explored the mysteries of seaweed - 

Pebbles shone like clumsy gems - 

We lolled in the Southsea Deckchairs - 

Our swimming costumes dried quickly in the sun - 

My skin tasted of salt -

We sat amongst the visitors - 

That man's spent an hour reading The Sun Anne said wonderingly - 

It should take five minutes I said -

12.49

Wednesday 21 June 2017

South Beach

Studland Dorset

Clerici's quiet melancholy ...

I woke up with a summer cold - 

I'm sitting now, watching Anne cut the rosemary - 

I can smell the fragrance of the severed stems - 

The sky is a pale burning blue - 

These last few days have been like living in a Sci Fi movie - 

I had an extra's part in the scene which was set in the parched city - 

Now sitting in the garden, I remember the stifling air inside the tube train, the scorched skins of parked cars - 

I'd watched a cat steal across a fire escape, its shadow as black as its fur - 

I was sitting on a roof terrace - 

I put down the novel by Alberto Moravia - 

I understood only too well Clerici's quiet melancholy - 

16.31

Tuesday 20 June 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke 

Dorset

Wearing the Ibiza hat ...

Paul gave me his Ibiza hat - 

I wore it when I walked down Wanstead High Street -

I thought, wearing this hat, I must look like a Londoner - 

I could be on my way to the bowls or the darts - 

I could have mates in Loughton - 

I admired the reflection of my hat in the window of The Ginger Pig - 

Behind the glass were opulent hams - 

Anne asked after strange potions in the health food shop - 

Goldfish swam in an antique tank - 

A man in a white linen suit passed us on the pavement - 

Happy Monday he said - 

12.30

Monday 19 June 2017

Wanstead High Street

London

Shame fell from the sky ...

We're staying in the wounded city - 

We journeyed beneath its towers and edgelands - 

Above our heads innocents wept amidst ash and charred bone - 

Their eyes were lifted to the mourning sky - 

Shame fell with the night upon the damaged kingdom - 

22.13

Saturday 17 June 2017

Wanstead Flats 

London 

I carried my joy like a gift from heaven ...

I'm sitting in a deck chair on South Beach - 

I've just eaten one of Ocean's chocolate brownies - 

White speed boats are anchored just offshore - 

Dads steer jet skis past the pristine hulls - 

A black helicopter circles the chalk headland - 

Wind breaks mark the territories of sunburnt families - 

Pale boyfriends lie on the sand - 

Brown girls Whats App their best friends - 

When I swam in the welcoming sea, I thought again how my life had changed - 

I carried my joy like a gift from heaven - 

13.00

Saturday 17 June 2017

South Beach

Studland 

Dorset 

The moon would light our dreams ...

After hearing the news, we walked towards Highwood - 

Sheep were grazing in the fragrant water meadows - 

The dark languid river flowed past waist high rushes -

Mayflies danced above the water - 

Soon bats would leave their secret lodgings - 

They'd trace their names in the darkening sky - 

Poppies would close their petals against the stars - 

We'd sleep under our lichened roof - 

The moon would light our dreams - 

20.45

Thursday 15 June 2017

East Stoke

Dorset 

Shelley would have a poem for it ...

I'm sitting under the apple tree, listening to the wind - 

I've put down my torn straw hat - 

Anne's stretched out upon the gentle lawn - 

I've been reading about Mary Shelley in the Villa Diodati - 

I'd forgotten for a while the horrors shown me by my I phone - 

I'd seen flames devour families in a instant, the London sky become a dreadful mirror - 

I'd heard stories too sad and terrible to be retold - 

I remembered then the evasive words, the polished jowls, of the men with blood dabbled hands - 

Shelley would have a poem for it, I thought - 

He'd describe the tears that became stones, the hearts that were fistfuls of dust and banknotes - 

16.27

Thursday 15 June 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke 

Dorset 

The only songs ...

Above my head there was a roof of leaf and sky - 

Now the tall sycamores were rich with summer greenery - 

We walked towards the sea as if through a green cathedral - 

This avenue of trees was the nave - 

Invisible birds sang in side chapels of hawthorn and creeping buttercup - 

A cool salty breeze stirred hangings of ivy - 

A hidden stream filled green pools - 

Rich pelts of moss graced fallen branches - 

Here the only time was that of the seasons, the only songs those of the sun and moon - 

11.15

Wednesday 14 May 2017

The abandoned arboretum 

Ringstead Bay

Dorset 

My shoes were filled with sand ...

The oak tree cast its shadow upon the sand - 

Each shadow leaf was like a dark coin underfoot - 

White yachts were moored offshore -

Soon it would be low tide -  

Oyster catchers flew low and fast above the water - 

 

We stood in the shade of the tree, under the cloudless sky - 

I remembered the blue zig zags of the dragonflies, the deep pool amongst the heather - 

I tipped my torn straw hat further down my forehead - 

My shoes were filled with sand - 

16.00

Tuesday 13 June 2017

Shipstal Point

Arne

Dorset

Touched by wonder ...

Holding the eggshell in my hand was like holding something spun from air - too finely made for my coarse bone - 

I wondered what songs the young bird would sing - 

I wondered with what flights he would explore the sky - 

I saw his precious face next to mine - 

I saw the new come from the old - 

I heard the music of miraculous heartbeats - 

My life was touched once more by wonder - 

17.01

Monday 12 June 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset 

He would run through the wild alleys with wings once more at his heels ...

This really annoys me my dad said - 

He reached out for my arm as we walked past The Prince of Wales - 

Each step he took was faltering and uncertain - 

The pavement's no help he said - 

Sometimes I hold onto the walls - 

We watched the London train pass through the gates - 

There's no cans in the house my dad said - not one - 

In the afternoon, he would dream in his armchair - 

The Sunday Times Magazine would lie unread upon his lap -

In his dreams he would swim in the creek off Rudmore - 

He would run through the wild alleys with wings once more at his heels - 

16.00

Sunday 11 June 2017

Staunton Road

Havant 

Hampshire

No longer would we have to wear careful colours ...

The house with high ceilinged rooms faced the sea - 

I stood in the garden, tasting salt upon my tongue - 

Waves broke upon the pale shore - 

Inside the house, activists sipped prosecco - 

I ate olives and cut myself a wafer of Manchego cheese - 

No longer, I thought, would we have to wear careful colours -

The zeitgeist had put on a suit of different clothes - 

19.00

Saturday 10 June 2017

Weymouth 

Dorset 

The possibility of hope ...

I savoured another spoonful of dhal soup -

The affable waiters brought out more subtle dishes - 

Cherry poured out a bumper of white - 

My comrades sat at two long tables - 

The small seaside town waited for the changing tide - 

I asked for a second Cobra - 

I remembered the hours spent telling, the pensioners greeted by smiling activists - 

I recalled Richard Drax, shooting his polished cuffs, the curtained windows of mean houses - 

At ten we heard the news we'd longed for - 

The possibility of hope was like wearing a golden crown - 

22.00 

Thursday 8 June 2017

The Masala

Swanage 

Dorset

The pale hero ...

I took a moment to gaze at the hero, laid out in his pale marble - 

The gentle town was a world away - 

I felt my cheek seared by the desert wind - 

Although I stood in the quiet chapel, I saw my shadow cast upon burning sand - 

16.01

Tuesday 6 June 2017

St Martin on the walls

Wareham

Dorset 

Let's have some Floyd ...

My friend Andy was in Glasgow Jay said - 

He went to the pub with his host - they both walked down the street drinking from cans of beer so they'd fit in - 

In the distance, Andy saw a building on some waste ground - it had a huge neon sign, all lit up, saying Beer Shop - 

Andy thought - that can't be the pub - but it was - 

Inside, there were walls of beer cans, from the floor to the ceiling - 

The landlord had a huge belly - but he was very knowledgeable about beer - he was a beer scholar - 

They talked about London ales - 

Then one of the regulars called out - let's have some Floyd - 

Andy thought they'd put on some Pink Floyd, Ummagumma perhaps - 

But in a cupboard, which the landlord opened, in a back room, there was an old TV and a VHS video recorder and a pile of video cassettes - 

He put in a cassette - and it was a Keith Floyd cooking special - 

There was the boozy chef of the 1970's - 

Everyone sat down to watch - 

It was a secret club - 

They all sat down to watch with Silkie Stout in their hands -

18.00

Thursday 1 June 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset