Pity and terror stole into the innocent garden ...

I sat under the apple tree, reading Fatelessness by Imre Kertesz - 

Pity and terror stole into the innocent garden - 

There was powdered bone beneath my feet - 

I learned to speak a monstrous language - 

My head was shaven - there were sores around my ankles - 

Instead of the water meadows, I saw a bleached wilderness -

A dark city was hidden in smoke - 

There was dust inside my mouth - 

17.28

Wednesday 17 June 2015

The garden of The Old School House

East Stoke 

Dorset 

The Hanger ...

One wild boozy summer in Winchester, I bought a foxed Everyman of Gilbert White's Natural History of Selbourne -  

I'd read his gentle words in between meeting Annick and preparing lesson plans - 

I still have the book somewhere on my shelves, perhaps between an anthology of Borges and a shameless Dennis Wheatley - 

I thought of Gilbert White when I walked through Wick Hill Hanger - 

Tall trees cast their green dreams upon the hillside - birds sang their beautiful ancient songs - 

The path led us to a deep hollow way - 

Richard and I walked each in our own silence - 

Under our feet were delving tree roots - 

Above the hill was the limitless sky - 

15.00

Wednesday 3 June 2015

Wick Hill Hanger

North of Selbourne

Beef stroganoff in Hawkley ...

They've run out of Bedlam Richard sighed - 

I raised my straight glass of Darkstar - 

The man in the black tracksuit left the bar to smoke outside - 

We'd seen him arrive earlier - he had the look of an assassin - he chilled the air he walked through -

We sat at a table of pale unvarnished wood - later a girl lit the candles in a three branched candlestick - there was a moose head fixed to the wall above the fireplace - 

Richard said the Proper Job was acceptable - 

The bar smelt very faintly of wood smoke - 

I wondered what strange songs were sung around the upright piano - 

We dined on beef stroganoff like two of Napoleon's gallopers - 

Darkness moved over the green fields -  

I slept under white linen, dreaming of eating figs in a fragrant meadow -  

23.00

Wednesday 3 June 2015

The Hawley Inn

Hawkley

My dad reads The Sunday Times ...

My dad had put on his navy blue Armistice suit, ready for church - 

He was anxious about the weather, asking if we thought it would rain - there were clouds in the Havant sky - 

I don't know what channel the weather's on he said - 

He turned on the flat screen TV - 

We saw a man gesturing at a map of Great Britain - there would be no rain today - 

See, no rain I said - 

Ten minutes later, my dad said I wonder what the weather will be like - 

I sat in my chair - 

My dad was now looking at the front page of The Sunday Times - 

There he is again he said, looking at a photograph of Prince William - what a ridiculous uniform they've put him in -

09.05

Sunday 14 June 2015

Staunton Road 

Havant

Hampshire

 

Losing my I phone 5, my lips sewn up with glowing thread ...

Last week, I lost my I phone 5, somewhere between East Worldham and Selbourne - 

It had fallen out of a faithless pocket - it no longer lay in my hand, snatching marvels from the air - 

I sat in the Queens Hotel with Richard, deaf to his comforting words - 

I felt bereft, voiceless, blinded, my lips sewn up with glowing thread - 

The Queens Hotel

Selbourne

15.30

Wednesday 3 June 2015

In the company of prophets ...

The courtly silverback gave us directions to High Candovers -

We'd almost missed his studio, half hidden amongst the trees - 

Inside, there were bright drawings - 

I imagined myself, here in the deep woods, painting the moon in the midsummer night - 

The stars would appear, one by one - 

I'd await the dawn in the company of prophets - 

14.15

Wednesday June 3 2015

Pagletts Green Cottages

South of East Worldham

Hampshire

Green ancient silences ...

We lost our way in Pheasant Wood - we followed the path deeper and deeper into the trees, losing ourselves in a green ancient silence - 

We smelled wild garlic - my watch's time was not the time followed here - 

Walking out of the wood, along a hollow way, I felt myself brushed by invisible walkers, each one whispering their story, every word precious, every secret joyous - 

14.00

Wednesday 3 June 2014

Pheasant Wood

South of East Worldham

Hampshire