Tag: uckfield

On Church Street

Shortly after closing time
outside my unknown church -
feeling a stone's frore
off dead men and women
upright as chiselled recalls

and staring - all - in disbelief
at that zealous parish priest
who dolls up as a spectre
A welcome departure
from his-biking leathers?

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One More

That first pint of Guinness sunk
far too easily as fat drunks sang
love songs and spawled their hate
from behind tips and taps of beer

here in my old man's drinking club
attended by us - some retired saints
and some less retiring grey sinners
with our . . .

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Field Work

I write this, aching from my simple effort,
now bench-propped, on Luxford Field,
with car shunts and engine revs behind me,
then killed, still, replaced (for now) by birdsong.

This afternoon, under ripe end-of-March sun,
(we will judge once more with warming fears),
I wave at the . . .

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Measured

I was taught to spot the imperfect years
by measuring, with eye and finger
the varied distances, the thicknesses
of those concentric, almost-whirled,
bark-marked lines in the bared-ankles
of cut trunks: Dendrochronology.

Counting back, to before I was born,
my smooth fingers touched the years,
and Dad . . .

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Coffee Shop

Here's my retreat,
here's where I go,
this mug, this refill
of purchased repose;

Louche between low chats
of fat latte ladies,
opposite capped men,
brusque and too matey:

Aglow screen readers,
the Twitter typed lovers,
drugged kids in buggies,
under suffocate of covers;

a blind date, or . . .

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