Transience
Red bricks lie half digested,
Remnant of unremembered wall
Which long since was divested
Of its mortar and allowed to fall;
Laying now, decaying,
Crumbling into dust.
Bricks, like all that ever was,
Return to the Earth’s crust.
A childhood post war playground c1950
Last Week in July, First in August
Last week in July, first in August.
Two weeks of joy and adventure.
We’d go to Blackpool or St Annes,
Llandudno, Rhyl or Morecambe.
Sun on our backs, sand in our toes,
Dirt and grime of the streets forgotten,
Boarding house smelling of bacon and soap
Out with Dad for a paper each morning.
Under the pier, shady and drear,
Sandhills, sea walls, shellfish stalls,
Games on the beach and seagulls’ screech
Strolls on the prom as sunset falls.
Donkey-riding days full of laughter,
Ice-cream and candy-floss moments,
Holiday time came just once a year,
Last week in July, first in August.
Annual holidays with Mum and Dad, c1952
The Safest Place
When I was little the safest place to be
Was on the hearthrug by my granddads knee,
Fire blazing brightly, ashes falling in the grate,
Smell of Woodbine and cotton mill,
His dear old face smiling down at me.
When I was small the happiest times
Were spent in the fields by my granddad’s side
Cares all forgotten, rough hand holding mine,
One long endless summer without need of time,
Gathering blackberries to take home for our tea,
My brother, Granddad, and me.
Summer days c1954
Cracks
Cracks appear
Momentarily revealing the inferno below.
The searing heat of deprivation
Burning away the souls of the living
Leaving them dead to reason,
Alive only to hate, and rage
At the injustice of it all.
Spurting spears of white-hot anger
Thrust skyward from the cracks,
Hissing and steaming as each glob spends its heat
On the cold indifference of the surface,
Temporarily re-sealing the fissure
And entombing the tormented below.
Relentlessly the exothermic reaction goes on,
Unseen and ignored by greed-blinded eyes,
The rising temperature only dimly perceived
Through layers of wall-to-wall carpet
And mind-numbing media.
The clock ticks on to midnight
As we ignore the trembling ground beneath our feet.
Inner city riots, Liverpool, Bristol and London, 1985
The Sanctuary
Amid the mad cacophony of life
Which threatens to engulf my mind,
Away from all the world’s sick strife,
One hour of quiet peace I find.
Oh, precious place of dim twilight
Where quiet contemplative thought
Enables me to face aright
The evils by the evil wrought.
The old familiar musty smell
Wraps me around with memories
And frees my spirit from the shell
Of self-protective remedies.
Safe within these hallowed walls
I feel no threat from hate or fear,
Love, from the very ether falls
Upon my waiting mind, now clear.
For love and truth are here, and real
Whatever gods may move our souls,
To whatever idols we shall kneel,
All, facets of a glorious whole.
All, give us hope that right will win,
And wrong shall vanish like the mist
As the sunny summer day begins
In the meadow which the dew has kissed
Unitarian Chapel, 1984
Until the Flood
Sitting by the window gazing at the trees
Swaying in the breeze
Sun, glinting on the Ouse
As it has for centuries.
Countless eyes have done the same
Through summer, winter,
War, peace, day and evening light
In happiness, sorrow, or fear.
I feel blessed to do the same.
The timelessness of flowing water
Like my life, drifting by from beginning to end.
Ceaseless, restless, until the final flood.
In contemplative mood by the River Great Ouse, 2016