There is no summer
Wet and slug summer barely starts
here in England
struggling across wet mown lans
where bush and fence
separate the lives of redundant salesmen
and I.T. geeks where
fading Constable prints hang in draughty hallways
and fat old Labradors menace cats and postmen
and Spring faded into a suspicious Summer
that never happened
where people live replete with
arthritis and unpayable mortgages.
Farmyard noises across the fields at evening
where trains stop in Southern Way .. dawdle
shunt
into rough sidings for the night; night which know
no passion
as I travel like some old pine needle
bound for llfe's dead pile
burning in the bonfire or blown willy nilly
experiencing
a dying, revealing
a different life, like a hard night's frost
that slaughters the will to live
where destinations are packed
with stale and pregnant air.
Dear Charlie, my Shetland Sheep dog
lies on the carriage floor,
tri coloured brown eyed a TV star
who just lives and wants no more.
I know now a river is not a river
if it does not flow
and we cannot make any corner in life
and in life's beauty.. and I recall
I knew her long ago between the lines
and against the clock
and loved her with paper cash
and whisky on my breath
with doggy eyes and the wares of
El Dorado
with golden gloves and Venitian glass
with my my blasphemy bluff and swagger
and lots of other stuff,
I loved her with her wings of Icarus
dipped in deepest henna ..unearthly red.
She was mine, my daily bread
reminded
by a fading summer wind
a summer that never was
that blows the bodies of lovers
together
and blows away also their complexes and cares.
Free Forum Hosting
Important Announcement
First 
