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