#Poem Kathy’s Caravan

Metal bangles rattle
slide up and down
wrist to elbow
We sit, squashed on a vinyl-padded bench
wedged between wobbly table and window
squeaking tacky plastic
but mostly talking

Your summery black and flowery satin
first set beside windblown sand drifts
splots of grass-weed, anonymous hedge
gentle echo of voices and cars
thussh, thussh, of the ocean
dispelled my madness

Inside, our naïve talk is OK
It’s OK – for hours

Twilight
your kiss is sweet and childish
your fingertips on my face
melting

#Poem Just Outside Newport

 Just Outside Newport

My eyes letch around th
e contours and slopes o
f the river-bank both b
anks one eye left one r
ight following the shap
e as it bends widens na
rrows a loop a twist st
eep bank flat bank mudd
y dry weed-filled or ba
re on and on this train
trundles where am I goi
ng I wish I was back ho
me again looking at you
 

#Poem tethering pole

I’ve hammered in a tethering pole
& attached a chain that reaches the boundary wall

They say this landscape is well-defined
sketchable
but we get black fog
storms with rain so thick you can’t see

On a good day
I wave to you across the fields
Sometimes we meet in the village store

#Poem To the Airport

On this edge-of-town railway platform
the sky fights back
and picks the outline of roofs -
stepped, and a welcome curve.

It’s shaded and dull,
home for half-an-hour,
a perforated metal bench,
a sofa in front of the telly.
The kids run around shouting -
not my kids.

We see four trains clank in,
fill up with beach-folk destined for Barry Island,
and then roll out.

Then ours arrives
but there’s two boys
who tell the conductor
they want to go to the island,
and he won’t tell them,
but I do,
that they’ve got to change trains,
and they don’t believe me
so I raise my voice a little,
but then two other passengers say the same
and off they get.
I don’t expect a thank you,
don’t get one.

#Poem There’s Nothing on Telly

This area’s all digital now,
my old TV crying static.

Earlier, I was well juiced
but I cracked into more wine
wrote a solo for the guitar,
it went just the way I wanted.

I’m not sure what scale or mode or musical genre
it might belong to
but that doesn’t matter, not really,
except I hear a wise voice
and it wants me to explore market potential.

I fiddle with the TV again -
nothing to watch -
nothing but me.