Sun’s
Reflection
The
sun’s
reflection on snow-covered mountains
Their
tops aglow like red-hot coals
Alpine
sunshine bruises the water’s surface
Opening
doors, inviting us into worlds we cannot see
The
waters surface is blowing like a blanket in the wind
Lifting,
shifting, revealing glimpses of speckled trout
Resting
on the stony river bed below
Shards
of bright white light spark off the scales onto flint rock
The
Magazine Rack
Black
and cold
You
cradle the world in your sleeve
Places
of interest, adventures secreted
In
the dark folds of yesterday
Headlines
boldly coldly read
Blank
bank verses
Curses
and purse strings pulled taut
Anyone
can be bought or aborted
Deeper
and deeper I look
Look
for the carefully placed hooks
Hidden
deep in the corners
Away
from the eye
Waiting,
waiting to hook and strip
Strip
away the thin layer of confidence
Exposing
a brave and sensitive heart
The
Hospital Gathering
Gathering
In
the welcome shadowing of the day
They
petrify
A
semi-circle
Cluster
of clams
Sounds
emanate in sequential formation
Information
given, bleep
Information
received, bleep
Quiet.
There are no conversations here around this bed
Bleeps,
bleeps, and then silence
Hebden Hills
Mist
haze rain sloshed on glowing hills
Trees
reflect their effervescent greens
They
are looking their best now
Healthy,
almost new
Their
sideburns look
Cuts
deep into the hills
Accentuating
the cardboard
Cut-outs
of stone-built dwellings
That
don’t
quite fit in, the colours clash
But
match the dull weather
They
are a match for the weather!
The
Courtroom
Quasi-Spanish
courtroom waiting
On
orange-tiled mosaic squares
Tinged
with black worn to brown
Doors
shut on their iniquities
Rows
of straight-backed chairs
Heads
cocked
Chins
cradled in hands
Watching,
listening with attitude
Eye
on time wasted
Some
time to serve!
Time
gone by
Only
two black plastic mouthpieces
Secured
to walls
The
only contact to the outside world
Women’s legs
squeezed into too tight leggings
Men
tattooed in dull full Technicolor
Mobile
strapped to hip
Low
slung like a fast shooter
Children
resting, restless in grimy pushchairs
Children
playing, their one day out
Not
inside, yet!
A
pregnant child, once a naive girl
A
headstrong son
A
cold steel pinnacle of strength for us
And
justice for them
Summer
Storms
Gliding
over tarmac
Hot
and sticky
Too
hot to think
Too
close for comfort
A
sudden darkening of the sky
My
chest so tight
Nicotine-stained
clouds
Surround
the hills
The
birds are silent now
The
tension is unbelievable
Everything
awaits it
There!
A distant rumble
A
few drops of squeezed out tears
Plop
onto hot skin
Counting
1, 2 and 3
Then
an almighty bang
As
the sky rips apart
And
releases its weighty burden
Black
Rose
Black
silk rose of petals
Forlorn
Sadness
heaves upon these
Petals
hung heavy
With
weighty world of sorrows
Green
stem offers colour of hope
To
weather-worn head
As
petals drop like tears
The
Artist
So
nice to share
Contemplations
mixed with art and drink
So
bohemian
While
sitting in animation
While
the artist’s pencils and brushes
Peck
and skim the naked page
Capturing
the model’s essence
The
Moot
Zephyr
bar awaiting the band
A
Moot subject!
Alternative
bar
Cool
band sounds emanate
Through
tall black speakers
Amplifying
sound
Laura
Crane Trust
Hardworking
day at the office
Most
enjoyable – hiding away from the demanding public No
fees today None
needed Such
a worthy cause Paid
in kindness with T-shirts and brooches And
a picture sketched, then painted by Charlotte The
Café Bar Sat
oh so quiet Comfy
sofas of Brown
cracked leather New
but stressed to look old Stainless
steel tables and stools Coldly
challenge you Dare
you To
perch on the Precarious
authenticity Of
their retro design Mortal Dressed
in black she wanders Her
favorite haunts But
still malignant thoughts reach out Torment
her soul Messages
on mobile Remind
her She
will never be Mortally
free The
Fog The
dark damp air clings And
hair absorbs its wetness Making
it curl Slowly
it creeps and seeps through clothing Leaving
skin cold and damp There
is an eerie silence Among
the tombstones high upon the east cliff The
fog hovers Sneaking
silently through the ruins of the Abbey While
flocks of birds take to the air Cutting
through the fog Their
once graceful movements altered by the fog Making
their flight shudder Like
an old black-and-white silent movie A
schauerfilme Caused
by the enshrouding fog My
Dad I
can’t
help but sense A
change in my dad The
softness has been Driven
from him From
within There
is a hardening of a small body Into
eventual brittle frailty