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