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 

Walnut cake ...

Anne made two walnut cakes last Saturday - 

She took them out of the oven, each cake like a fragrant promise -

We took one of the cakes to my parents - 

Anne had used my mum's recipe - 

My mum smiled as she ate her slice of walnut cake - 

I used to make it she said - but it's all gone - 

I remembered her making cakes, her fingers kneading happiness into the rich mixture - 

The house was her neat realm - she listened to Woman's Hour on the radio - 

How will I know you're my little boy? she'd ask - 

I'd roll up my sleeve, and show her the birth mark on my arm - 

See my mark I'd say - 

15.48

Tuesday 8 March 2016

The Old School House 

East Stoke 

Dorset