Friday, 27 November 2020

Day in the life...

The Garden

-- Green belt dusk
seeps into night.
The garden settles.

Green Line bus
pushes on 
through the 

-- A cupped hand.
The invisible
Old Holborn glow 
stalks the end 
of the Garden.

A voice calls 
into the darkness.

Whatever happened
in Flanders remains...

Thursday, 26 November 2020

Day in the life...

-- In an out 
the Soundsytems
heaven bound
spirals of smoke
curried goat and Sensi
The 10 o’clock
from the coast
to the shadow
of the Westway
-- Red Stripe
and Daisy.
The long fringe,
flowers, sinuous.
Good days, 
sad days.
-- Gin, Bitter lemon
and Daisy.

Wednesday, 18 November 2020

A day in the life...


-- Stale hay clings 
to the memory
of walking barefoot
across the Downs 
at dawn.

Alfriston flickering 
below the low slung
clouds -- rain heavy.

--- She strides ahead
100 yards, 110 yards

It is never a good time
to say goodbye...

on DownLand.

Tuesday, 17 November 2020

A day in the life...

Birdsong and K-pop

-- The clatter of comms
spinning stratospheres

Calling on 
6.5 MHz
-- Traffic spirited away
over the span of
Mooney Mooney Bridge.

The lost telegrams 
never to be read.
Missed proposals.

the relentless Klang
of Birdsong and K-pop.

Wondering will it ever.


Saturday, 14 November 2020

And so...

The ragged mob of narcissists have started to turn in on themselves. From Trump to Cummings... the pace of hate just became too much and the 'outsiders' find themselves back on the outside. 

The real shame is that they'll never properly be brought to account for their litany of mad schemes and contemptible actions. 


Time to move on everyone.

Tuesday, 10 November 2020

You shall find love

You shall find love (for T.Emin)

In the swirl of oil
the breadth of canvas
a swish of a brush ---

You shall find love.

In the depths of
his warmest embrace.

In the ashtray of 
the last cigarette.

In the bottom of
the final glass.

You shall find love.

In the birdsong,
in the breeze, 
in the howl,
in the silence and 

in the vapours 
that trail behind us...


Sunday, 8 November 2020

Day in the life...


Found myself 
in the cinema
slightly drunk

The long walk
from happiness
to Seaford Head.

-- The battle
with the bottle --

Staring into
rockpools and 
chalk caves.

The delicate
twist of an
ozone breeze
gliding North

--- Time to take 
a deep breath
a small step.

Thursday, 5 November 2020

Day in the life...

I am Banksy

-- Guerilla tactics
poetry on the streets

the ashes of HEARTBREAK
floating down from heaven

A smoke screen
the filter is LOVE.

Graffiti of the soul
-- A Long Man Tattoo

Staring down the barrel of

Will the last person to leave paradise
please turn off the lights....

Wednesday, 4 November 2020

Day in the life...

And that was it...

-- Looking out the 
same window,
for all these years.

Horizons swept away.
Every day -- gone!

Journeys remembered
destinations forgotten.

--- Boarding the Metro
at Quai de la Gare... 
The tang of 
burnt rubber 
and last night's 
late hour,
sweeps the length 
of the platform.

The look on her face
betrayed nothing --
except her husband.

Tuesday, 27 October 2020

A perfect day in the perfect pub - #6

"My partner 'n my sadness, my story, my wantoness
My wish, my despair, my erasure, my plantation
My white chocolate, my thoughtlessness, my gracelessness
My courage and my crying, my pockets 'n my mistakes
My body and my sex, my gaze and my helplessness..."

It is 2:35pm and the post-lunchtime lull is precious in the perfect pub. She's gone back to work and 'Lions after Slumber' by Scritti Politti invades the airspace. A song that heralds a slideshow of the past... late nights in Meads... daybreak at Birling Gap... a bottle of vodka and white chocolate on a balcony in Brighton. 

Serendipity swings through the door, sunshine trailing in it's wake...

The cricket is going well. Time for me to do some serious watching, accompanied by a cheeky Sancerre (the other half of Tattinger had seemingly gone the way of the first) and The Guardian's sports quiz of the year (held over from December for the purpose of fictional construct). Joined by Slim, breezing in all Hawaian 40's shirt and dangerous wit. He sits at the table and a pint appears (they know him here). We dash through the hundred questions and score a very passable 92 (we were never going to get the equestrian sports but I should have remembered that David Wilkie won the 200m breastroke, not 100m). 

Another flurry of Aussie wickets means we'll be batting before tea! Not quite Trent Bridge but certainly reminiscent of Melbourne 2010. The Sancerre evaporates, as does Slim's Stella Artois. We cover off key topics: the new book about Samuel Beckett, the potential British Lions starting XV against RSA and uncovering the truth behind what happened to the girl we used to go to school with who became a stripper and glamour model. 

I get more drinks and manage to place a bet with David Jenkins & Sons "traditional bookmakers to gentlemen of a literary persuasion". Fingers crossed for 'Bottle of Smoke'... 

A nice 10 minute interview with Michael Holding fills the break between innings. I remember, in the nick of time, that we (Slim & I) always have Cheesy Wotsits when watching England bat together (it's a luck thing). Thankfully the barman was two steps ahead of me. 

A bowl appears along with an ashtray, a selection of Gitanes, Gauloises, Marlboro (soft-pack), Camel and Lucky Strike, as well as a 1965 Zippo that had seen action at La Drang. They know Slim here...

Monday, 26 October 2020

Code: Tuesday

All transmissions on this frequency are monitored...
all communiqués must be deemed to have been compromised...
Helsinki reported a security breach 05:30 Sat 24/10...
Impact assessment suggests 'we are fucked'...
Two operatives (19 and 46) have failed to report in on line Red...
Implement standard Tuesday protocols...
The Praesidium met 09:00 Sat 24/10...
Viper Committee activated, Beryl from accounts was inadvertently appointed Chair...

Stand by for further instructions


Wednesday, 21 October 2020

Day in the Life...

Long Island
-- We know the route.
Down the path, alongside
the empty house.

--- Footprints in the snow.
On top of the coal bunker.
On the garage roof. 
In, through 
the landing window.

The immersion heater
left on, ever since.
The smell of fresh 
radiator paint.

---- Radio 4 on 
in the kitchen.
Night broadcasts
silent bedrooms,
the Priory.

The inevitable,
hovering ---
A shadow over
Long Island.

* Langney is derived from the Anglo-Saxon words Lang and ey for 'Long Island'.

Tuesday, 6 October 2020

Day in the life...

View from the roof garden

 -- A glass of champagne nestles 
into the V of the right hand. 
The burnt out sun 
slides into the night.

We can see the
Post Office Tower
revolving through
the traffic's haze.
--- Kaleidoscope.

The lost
of 1977

She looks at him
and he looks down
at the askew
world below.

"No way down from here,
at least not as I can see..."


Saturday, 3 October 2020

The Art of Confusion

Is every poem the truth? Are the words of the writer a reality, a distortion or a distraction? Should we hang on to every utterance for a clue as to what the writer is genuinely feeling?

Some writers declare that the reason they write is because they are searching for the absolute. They are committed to being as raw and as honest as possible and hang the consequences. Others write simply to entertain, to obfuscate or to build an alternative world. 

After a moment of confusion, bought on by writing something that was (in hindsight) easily misconstrued. I had to stop an ask myself: What sort of writer am I? Inconsistent? Yes. An autodidact? Yes. Confused? Undoubtedly. Wilfully obtuse? It would seem so. Does it matter? No, of course not. The joy of being all of the above, means it most probably doesn't matter one iota to anyone but me. But of course, when somebody reads something I've written and translates the meaning to be something completely different and possibly hurtful, then maybe I should pay more attention.

Especially the next time that I sit down to write something without a plan!

Thursday, 1 October 2020

What do all these poems mean?

Who knows... 

They are just hastily composed polaroids that will fade in the glare of the ever brightening sun. They will become bleached and distant until they completely disappear from view. A series of unread suicide notes, football commentaries, record reviews and postcards from the edge of the Tasman Sea. A handful of uncoded Enigma messages, a hidden cache of cassette tapes, badly recorded demos, morse-code transcripts from a ghost ship. They slipped under the radar, got lost in the traffic, flew south for winter and managed to lie low for the duration. 

They mean nothing. 

Unless they mean something to you... 

Wednesday, 30 September 2020

Day in the Life... (September 2020)


-- The creature 
skitters in the eves.
Sleep is a luxury,
one we cannot

are on the move
--- Neighbours 
have informed
the Government.

Latest reports...
...  bleak outlook
broken spirit...
... banished souls

Torches supplied---
---- The book burning
will start at 8:00pm
attendance compulsory.

---Four hours until Midlight!

"No to decadence and moral corruption!" 
"Yes to decency and morality in family and state!"
"I consign to the flames the writings of
The Traitor Franks"

Tuesday, 29 September 2020

Don't you just love it when...

... One of your favourite bands comes out of a 12-year recording hiatus with a fantastic new album!

I've followed A Certain Ratio's career since stumbling into a dingy basement in Brighton at one of their very earliest gigs (A Sussex University venue in Brighton). In those days they were very much a post-industrial band with a funky drummer, searching for a way to shrug off their long overcoats.

Over the years, the highs of; Sextet (especially Knife Slits Water), Life's a Scream/Sounds like something dirty, the WOMAD festival gig, Brazil shirts, samba whistles, madness in the streets of Kings Cross, The Wag Club (complete with Tilly onstage), ACR:MCR, 27 forever, Up in Downsville, through to the fantastic 40th anniversary gig in Islington in 2019 (complete with a chat with sorely missed Andrew Weatherall), ACR:BOX with their version of Houses in Motion (originally planned to be with Grace Jones) have all added up to being one of my most rewarding and long lasting musical experiences. 

In addition there are very few lows (with the most notable being the sad loss earlier this year of the lovely Denise Johnson - She would light up every show with her fantastic vocals and infectious interactions with the ACR Barmy Army - she is sorely missed).

So, the arrival of the fabulous new album ACR:Loco (released on 25th September) has been greeted with much fanfare and celebration round our way. Do yourself a favour - get this album now! 

Bouncy Bouncy! 

Monday, 28 September 2020

Day in the Life... (September 2020)


-- Communiques
are fading
in the ether,
in dawn's

The final
notes of
a symphony
on the neap tide.

---- A ship
goes down
all hands on
deck -----

Love's final voyage.

Day in the Life... (September 2020)


-- Days as dark
as Espresso.

The rule 
of six...

--- Clandestine.
The law
of diminished

13:00 hours
and the 
short-wave radio
repeats the 
same message...

Black lightning.

Sunday, 27 September 2020

Day in the Life... (September 2020)


-- A cooling zephyr.
The garden alight
with the flames of Ra.

A TR-808 fires up
--- 120 BPM
a soundclash.

Sunday sessions
moving through 
the years...

Dub dreams
bass heavy --
A Samba breezes
through the leaves.

Welcome to 
'a discoteca solitária'!

Saturday, 26 September 2020

Day in the Life.. (September 2020)


-- The dove flies 
in through 
the open window.

It sits on 
a wooden table.
The neighbourhood  
has arrived.

---- Sunflower seeds
on terracotta tiles.

The fragrant scent
of morality fills 
the kitchen ---

The man and the dove
a weekend meditation


Friday, 25 September 2020

Day in the life... (September 2020)

Return of the English Ghost

-- Battersea Power Station
midnight, Autumn.

The coast train 
pulls in to the 
empty station 
(Southbound platform).

Four carriages. 
Late night final
scattered across
the blue seats.

Nothing to eat
Whisky to drink.

-- Underneath the tracks
night buses evaporate 
in the mist of remorse--

A glance at the moon
------- The apparition 
stares down from 
the brick cathedral.

Silence empties the night.

--- Dark days herald 
the return of the 
English Ghost.

Thursday, 24 September 2020

Day in the life... (September 2020)


-- Being 
in love
with love.
Might just
be better
than being 
in love...

A man walks alone
on Curl Curl beach.

---- Modern Mersault
contented, passive
a low flame.


Wednesday, 23 September 2020

A perfect day in the perfect pub - #5

"Sunshine music, Funtime do it, in Brazilia..."

Time speeds up when she's around. Conversation flits from fact to fiction, present to past and from now until when. 

Elsewhere in the pub, a couple of regulars assume their position in front of the TV. Play has resumed in the cricket and another Aussie wicket has already fallen. In the library a first edition PG Wodehouse is being heartily enjoyed by 'that bloke from the Ad Agency' - the wonderful thing about this pub is that discretion is assured. Therefore, the fact that he should actually be knee deep in a pile of Japanese Anime publications instead of 'The Salvation of George Mackintosh' will go unnoticed back in the carbon and chrome interior of 'SNIDE Inc'. 

The Tattinger eases itself below the half-way mark and another double (although it was only meant to be a single) Vodka comes as she glows. 'Brazilia' by A Certain Ratio fills the pub and smiles break out almost everywhere. Even the barman (more of whom later) manages to contrive a passable samba step on his way to serve Alan Hudson (former Chelsea, Stoke & England player) at the other end of the bar. 

The chess match, on the round table under the stairs, between the Cuban diplomat and the Olympic Couriers dispatch rider is entering its second hour. Another clatter of stumps and the Australian collapse is in full flow. 

An hour has gone and she must return to her office but she will be back, as will the barman with another bottle of Tattinger (where did the last half go?). He takes the empty glasses but not before sharing a tip.
"Fistful of Smoke in the 3:40 at Kempton...". Lenny, the pub bookie looks over. A nod passes between the pair of us.

She rises, smiles, shares a kiss and heads out of the door. 

Looking back at the chess match and 'that bloke from the Ad Agency', a quote from Raymond Chandler slipps into my mind, uninvited like an Arsenal fan in The Rising Son. 

“Chess is as elaborate a waste of human intelligence as you can find outside an advertising agency.” 

That Chandler certainly had a rare and precious view of the world. But not as precious as the one I'd had at our table for the last hour.

Day in the life of... (September 2020)

Spies work alone

-- Rattling around
the safe house.

Keep the mind active.
Wait for instructions.
Perfectly happy
in the silence.

---- London is
so very quiet. 
No news
for months.

on the other side
of the world.
Another day,
another dead 

Tuesday, 22 September 2020

The Art of being an English Gentlemen (Part 11)

A strange thing occurred last Saturday. I paid a visit to the lovely Melissa for a cup of tea and a natter about things artistic. When during the course of conversation, she upbraided me for my somewhat relaxed state of dress.

"What has happened to you? When I first knew you, you were all stout brogues, nice suits and turtle neck jumpers. Now it is, well, this..."

I was admittedly wearing a pair of somewhat distressed Mambo shorts that had seen better days. My new T-shirt however was in immaculate condition. My shoes however...

Let me put it this way. The Birkenstock is a comfortable item of footwear and certainly when I'm in a more 'mindful' state of dress I will happily pair them with a 'Zen not Zen' t-shirt and shorts. However, the incident did raise the question about summer footwear. 

On the assumption that the perennial brogue is, for the purposes of this discussion, not to be included. What can one wear? Trainers can be worn but a GOACA* has to be very careful. Please note only the following 12 trainers are acceptable as day wear:
  • Adidas Gazelle
  • Adidas Superstar (white/navy only)
  • Adidas Handball Spezial
  • Adidas München
  • Adidas Italia
  • Adidas Japan
  • Adidas Samba (5 a-side football only)
  • Puma Suede (Black & White)
  • Reebok Classics (only to Association Football matches)
  • Gola Harrier (Mods only)
  • Onitsuka Tiger
  • Chad Suede (As inspired by Terry 'Chad' Kennet on the Quadrophenia album cover)
No other trainer will be permitted.

Of course, 'exercise' training shoes have their place but solely for the purpose of exercise. But be very diligent, these are interesting times.

Next time around, proper shoes!

*GOACA > Gentlemen of a Certain Age

Monday, 21 September 2020

Day in the life of... (September 2020)

 Blue Passport

-- Escaping heaven
in a VW beetle.
Midnight flit,
handheld torch
tracing a path 
along the 
Coast Road.

--- A new Mythology.
With a Blue Passport
in my hand.
A taste of liberty,
the guiding hand
of a God who
never existed.

Sun coming up 
at the end 
of the road.
--- We can't get any 
further East.

... We can't get any 
further East.

Sunday, 20 September 2020

Day in the life of (September 2020)

 Another Planet

-- Light ricochets
around the bedroom.

A tanned arm,
white sheets.
--- They've been 
in these poems


-- I wonder
if we can stay
in here
all day.

Outside the sunshine
dries the fallen leaf
and a Magpie
walks across
the lawn.

The world
will carry on

Saturday, 19 September 2020

A perfect day in the perfect pub - #4

"...folded back shirt sleeves, as the sun streams down from the sky"

The fact that there is a slew of London's finest record stores within 2 minutes walk of this particular 'Moon Under Water', reinforces the reason why this is the best day in the best pub. The fish-finger sandwich, gorgeous. The second Guinness, finished. At the Cricket, it is still lunchtime. Outside, the Soho streets fizz with life. 

Leaving my paper and phone on the table. Nobody will steal my phone or my table. We just don't do that here. I climb the three stories to the roof terrace - empty. I'll come back up around 3:40 (tea-time at the cricket). 

Time to pop into Soul Jazz or one of the other record shops in Berwick Street, Murphy might still be around. Skim through the racks and boxes. Pick up a mint condition copy of Weekend's wonderful La Varieté. Put a deposit down on a pristine copy of 'Ascenseur pour l'echafaud' by Miles Davis. Then back in the pub before she glides through the door at 1:30.

My table has been tidied, a bottle of Tattinger is in one of the pubs rare ice buckets (made from a WW1 German helmet picked up at Ypres). My phone has been recharged, newspapers folded and a printed scorecard of the morning's play placed on a silver tray for my perusal.

The hubbub of Soho seeps in a couple of seconds before she does. Despite the fact that the pub is quite quiet (oh the bliss), a palpable silence accompanies her first step through the side door. She knows where I'll be, same table, same seat. 'The view from her room' by Weekend drifts from the jukebox in perfect time. She is wearing a summer dress, her hair short, two degrees south of ebony. She is beautiful, not least because she doesn't know or care whether she is or she isn't. 

She slides into 'her' seat. A double vodka and lemonade (ice, no slice) appears. 

They know her here.

It is 1:35pm.

Friday, 18 September 2020

Day in the life... (September 2020)

 Everything's Tuesday

--- A lone detached
dragonfly wing
lies ignored 
on the wooden table
outside the kitchen.

--- Dust clings to
the shop window.
--- Off Grove Road.

Second hand 
record shops,
brimming with 
teenage delights.

Invictus blue
labels spin
at 45 RPM.

--- and we sigh

is Tuesday.

Thursday, 17 September 2020

Day in the life.. (September 2020)


-- Another year
cardboard days
full of distance,
fog, smoke and

The toaster goes 
here -- well, it
always used to.

--- the red and purple
of a child's fridge
painting. Can't throw
it away. Can't keep it.


... that I cannot revisit


... that I'll never read.

Wednesday, 16 September 2020

Tuesday, 15 September 2020

Day in the life of... (September 2020)

Blackbell Railway

And over the train tannoy...
-- "This last carriage 
is reserved
only for those 
travelling to 
Bitter, Resentful and Bigot.

--- Please move further
down the train if 
you've got X-ray vision,
a glimpse of the future
and one eye on the past.

All poets must travel
in the front 4 carriages
as this train splits in two
at Indecision.

The last four coaches
will then call at 
Me first, then 
Selfish Parkway, 
Vile Self-Loathing
and Bognor
before finishing at
All-at-fucking Sea ----

Whilst the first four carriages 
will head on to Ecstasy,
Despair, High-on-Hope,
Disappointment East,
Disappointment West,
Euphoria Central
and will finally arrive at

Monday, 14 September 2020

Day in the life of a... (September 2020)

A darker perspective

-- Mountain high, all time low.
Surrounded by love. 
The treachery 
of the mind.

And to think
that the best days
are so far behind us.
--- The mercurial mix
of amphetamine sulphate,
Holsten Pils, treble
vodkas --- and the girl
from accounts. 

---- Did we really have 
to aim quite so high?

-- Apollo and Artemis
got lost somewhere 
between here and 
Leicester Square.

Meanwhile Dionysus
has got the landlord
in a headlock and 
is promising 'free drinks
for all' --- 

----- Bowie on the jukebox,
silence on the other end 
of the phone.

Mountain high, all time low.

Sunday, 13 September 2020

Day in the life of ... (September 2020)

Day Off

-- Hoping for a day away
from the churn and terror
of capturing these days.

We are lost. 
The humanity vortex.

--- Turn the net off.
Silence the radios.

This is all getting out of hand.

Saturday, 12 September 2020

Day in the life of... (September 2020)


-- White crows arrive,
as the fret moves out.
The garden is yet to fall
to the clutch of the sea.
Grass stoached though.

An olympic white Fender
leans against the bookshelf.
Mustang ---

The notebooks red, filled
with black ink spider 
scrawl and sprawl. A long
black hair trapped
in the stapled pages. 
---- Tanned yet white,
long fingers stretch.

The songwriter looked down.
"Never can recall exactly
when this Onyx ring
came into our lives...

It changed everything"

Tea is ready, the fire is lit
and the whisky is 
just an hour away...

Stoach - To trample grass to mud (Sussex dialect).

Friday, 11 September 2020

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)

Suburban rapture 

 -- Dusk builds in the distance
behind the drab grey
Corporation tennis courts.
Fading football matches
scurry to a last goal wins
disputed conclusion.

Clouds of Rothmans
and Embassy, filter 
upwards --
Suburban rapture.

She loves he loves 
we love we hate
West Ham run
ACAB etc---
Brick wall, Fluoro script, 
the Newtown Rosetta.

Another cider night
in the den. Rituals.

-- Bringing us closer
to the end. 

Thursday, 10 September 2020

Perfidious Albion - #3

The horrorshow that is Brexit & Covid beggars belief. And yet, the blatant cronyism, piled on top of the numerous grants offered to numerous friends of the Tory government - are like breadcrumbs leading us to the bigger project that is rumbling along inside No.10 - 

The break up of the Union.

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)


-- In the semi-light,
a magical domain.
Senses collide.
-- Arcane
petrol and 
creosote mingle
in the warmth.
The rusted tins,
stale tobacco
and fertiliser 
fill the old shed.

Fresh sandwiches
ready for noon, 
cucumber spread, 
Sunblest and 
Anchor butter.
---- To Stamford Pond
to find a Mayfly.

Another day,
ancient sunlight,
eternal summer.

Wednesday, 9 September 2020

Perfidious Albion - #2

I wake up in the middle of the night and have to check the news. What ghastly horrors await? What have they done this time? How much have they stolen? Can nobody stop them? Just exactly when did all the adults leave the room? Does integrity count for nothing? Does honesty count for even less these days? I always believed that the notion of 'one rule for them and another rule for us', was a rather trite appraisal of the situation. But it would seem that I was kidding myself... The old and oft spouted adage adage that "if you are not a Socialist by the time you are 21 - then you haven't got a heart. But if you are not a Tory by the time you are 40 - then you haven't got a brain" is something that has stuck in my craw ever since my very first day at work. 

Although in these days, it would seem that even the old time 'One Nation' Tories would be tarred with a similar brush. The new brutalism of the current Eton crop leaves many traditional Tories gasping for air. And the thing I don't understand is that, if they played the old game, they would still be in control. This new approach seems so hellbent on leading us at breakneck speed towards chaos that they are going to break everything they once held dear. 

Or is this all part of Der Masterplan...

Tuesday, 8 September 2020

Shameless - A review

Excerpt of a lovely review from Dave Smithers of SHAMELESS Magazine in the U.K.
- It’s not often you get to revisit your teenage musical fascinations from this distance but The Butterfly House have managed to transport me back to April 1983, across the space of their 8-track 10” LP ‘From the Wish Tower...’
No studio pyrotechnics or overdubs means that the result is fresh, yet reminiscent of the Cherry Red recordings of Everything but the Girl & The Monochrome Set.
Sanaz has a unique yet beguiling vocal style and the songs betray a lyrical variety that is missing from so many current releases. Franks, the songwriter and guitarist wears his influences (Weller, Mayfield, Pearson) comfortably.
The rhythm section of the former 10-Bob Nostril bassist Eric Lawrence and Sydney drum legend Hamish Stuart raise the bar and all in all this is a delightful, simple yet occasionally flawed debut. 
FORMATS: 10” LTD Black Vinyl, CD, D/L.
STANDOUTS: Walking Home, Last Wave

Monday, 7 September 2020

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)

 Wild Poppies

-- In the lee of the 
Sussex Downs,
a field of wild poppies
explode in the heat
of another
Jevington morning.

a glimpse of
heaven, along 
the lane.
-- St Andrew's
door is open. 
The silence is

--- The Sunflower 

The faintest hint 
of Absolut ---

Some kisses 
mean so much 
more than others.

Sunday, 6 September 2020

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)

Le Couple, La Radio et Le Vin
(Bar de La Marine, Cassis)

-- Resting against 
the Zinc. 
Kir Royale in 
the embrace of her 
sun-tanned hand.

Both damp
after the long
walk back from 
the quietest Calanque.
---- Her hair lemon 
bleached and smile
magnetic bright.

The afternoon
stretched out
before them like 
Le Méditéranéen.

The radio played
in the corner 
of the bar.
--- "Perhaps, 
we should have had
one more bottle."

Perhaps not.