We washed in an avocado-coloured bath - we had never tasted that foreign fruit back in nineteen-seventy-two - or three - we were lucky to get to peel tangerines It was a plastic suite - uneasily creaking with our scales of weights of our pre-teen occasional visits - each darkly recorded by layered rings of … Continue reading Fruits and Suites
Here in this alarm-met half-lit hour things still bide from other April Fools' days Do not forget failing spaghetti trees on foolish reportage loops Again those soft nudges on slow senses of soote aromas off flowering bulbs there drilled - then paraded by retirees My sucking lungs hauled their scents and cool air's apparent emptiness … Continue reading Paperboy 1st April 1977
The bastard Surrey countryside was our dawn-to-dusk playground of rust-stained ditches - of new paths set down through welly-trod crops .../
There was that microcosm fixing my dawdled childhood in which I centred myself in a kneeled-to wondering .../
It is over two decades since we last spoke - you offered no responses - not when I 'phoned or when I cheerily arrived at the family home .../
Weird kids never came out - not back then - that's why they were not in our rushed pack of loosely herded imaginations running under the command of Up to the ruins! .../
We three boys would trawl boggy fields well up to welly boot depths and over..
This is my constant (since childhood): along a rough path of almost-identified bird song, high-scattered; but I am no longer drawn to the slip and suck of uneven grasses, to be welly-filled so my socks squelched: Not over the land topped by last year's stamped brambles: As ever the grey sky has dropped, she rests … Continue reading Continuation