FINISHING TOUCHES

a harmony vocal here
a guitar motif there
a touch of reverb or delay somewhere else
the vocals need a tad more volume in the chorus
the congas needs slightly more of a crescendo in the bridge
note by note
layer by layer

arpeggio by arpeggio

a minor chord by f major triad
my artifact is born at last!

AUTUMN FALL

on the cusp
august merges imperceptibly into september
the chill is already returning
three days of camping has stiffened the bones
the dawn becomes a little darker
the dusk ever more premature

hot on the heels of the peregrine
a family of red kites preside over towersey folk festival
above the tents and marquees
over the muddy thoroughfares
high on the thermals they soar
low they swoop in search of their next meal
their mighty wings holding them aloft
poised in delicate equilibrium

the festival music swoops and soars also
melodeons, accordians and fiddles perform tricky manoeuvres
steep climbs and precipitous descents
loop the loops and smooth landings
the musicianship sparks and ignites
burning bright through the late summer night sky

PEREGRINE

one look over the plunging precepice turns my legs to jelly
we descend the steep path from the limestone pavement
where the flowers and ferns find sanctuary among the grykes
to the valley floor of this green and pleasant land
dry stone walled into minature fields
a group of men peer into several telescopes mounted on tripods
their cyclopean eyes peeled on a rocky ledge
just below the limestone pavement where we stood moments ago
it transpires that this remote eyrie is home to a family of peregrines
and one of them was in residence a couple of hours earlier
i take a peek and am astonished to see an unseen rock climber's backside
picked out in x30 magnification!
but no peregrines
i take a stroll along the babbling brook
which washes clean the rocks and stones
when i glimpse a dark shadow that bisects the rock face
and then is gone
i return to the cyclops men with the glad tidings
and lo and behold
one of them trains his scope upon the larder
where a stripe-breasted bird of prey sits in regal magnificence
as i gaze through the telescope
it seems to be staring straight back at me
its hawk eye fixed unblinking on this human spy

FLAT BATTERY

jack arrives armed with a formidable array of tools
he whips out a battery tester and delivers the verdict
this 12 volt battery has a mere 3.5 volts left in it
in other words it is beyond help
it will have to be replaced
the next task is to remove the offending organ
but the design of the bonnet space is weirdly lacking in ergonomic logic
the big fat battery occupies the most inaccessible position
almost under the windscreen wipers
worse still it is hemmed in
betwixt the rubber shielding of a pipe and a rainscreen
taking our chances with leaking battery acid
the two of us painstakingly lever the thing onto its end
and then manoeuvre its 17-kilo bulk past the various pipes and other gubbins
up to selly oak we fly in jack's more reliable vehicle
to exchange it for a new model
reversing the previous process we reconnect the new powerbox
and to my delight we have ignition!
i feel that an envelope has been pushed

ARTIFACT

Buried in dust
Covered in sand
I cradle an artifact in the palm of my hand
Soiled with earth
Coated with grime
I stare at this artifact ahead of its time

Forged from a fire
Fashioned from gold
A craftsman so far away, such a long time ago
His race or his creed
I do not know
Who buried this artifact so long ago?

In the cold stinging rain
As the sleet turns to snow
I bury my artifact deep down below
For the future to find
For tomorrow to know
I bury this artifact deep in the snow

JUMP CHUMP

for the first time in my life i am a car owner
for years i have hired vehicles for the odd weekend getaway
as and when
but now that i am the unproud owner of a rusting metal leviathan
i quickly find myself out of my comfort zone
and out of my depth
not that this is necessarily a bad thing
there's no doubt about my discomfort
at making my personal contribution to ecological meltdown
but i'm talking about a different kind of discomfort
for the over-sized german people's wagon
inherited from some friends returning to korea
sits stubbornly on the drive
an immovable object
(if only i was an unstoppable force)
over the last few weeks
i have reluctantly been coughing up the readies
like an out-of-order fruit machine
the service
the insurance
the road tax
the breakdown insurance
into four figures already
finally yesterday i decide to take the new addition to the family for a short test-drive
problem one: the remote doesn't work
i have to turn the key in the lock the old-fashioned way
just to open the door
problem two: the car doesn't start
the engine is unmoved
i quickly come to a straightforward but unwelcome conclusion
the battery is out of juice!
perhaps five weeks of inactivity have taken their toll
what do i do now?
i've heard of people using jump leads
to charge the battery from another vehicle
(the mr bean episode i used to use in class
where he gives someone a heart attack immediately springs to mind)
but where can i get a pair and what exactly do i do with them?
i give my little bro a call
he suggests taking the battery out and getting it tested
but then starts warning me about the potential dangers of electrocution

by accidentally touching a terminal with a spanner

and closing the circuit
not exactly encouraging
i set off around the neighbourhood in search of assistance
the claridges at number 29 are away on holiday
i have to introduce myself to the chinese neighbour at number 25
who keeps chickens in his back garden
no, he doesn't have any jump leads
he uses aa homestart
i head up the road towards my parents' place
stopping off at the o'neills at number 83
they don't have any jump leads either
although mr o would be happy to help me if i can lay my hands on a pair
i'm beginning to detect a distinct lack of neighbourhood resilience
when i remember m & d's mechanically-minded neighbour, rob
unfortunately he's away on holiday too
suddenly i think of the hynds
who i know through governing at h's school
i get through to jack, who doesn't have any jump leads
but does have a battery recharger
he offers to pop round the following afternoon to take a look
and this novice breathes a tentative sigh of relief...

ROWAN

not at kinson
at the t-junction
of the front garden, our drive and the pavement
there stands a small mountain ash
twenty feet tall
its branches shading an area about four yards in diameter
shielding the house from north-westerlies
shading the kitchen window from low-angled evening sunlight
its pale grey bark is smooth to the touch
it has been chopped around a little
but its foliage hides a multitude of sins
in may it blossoms
small white cauliflower-like bunches
now these pretty white bunches have metamorphosed into juicy red berries
which attract eagerly pecking blackbirds and thrushes
and clumsy over-sized wood pigeons
who bend the slimmer branches under their weight
if you want to identify a rowan
the small pinnate leaf fingers are a dead give-away
very similar to an ash
but without the black buds or dangling keys
it's the first thing i see when i turn the corner from the park
standing polite sentry over our garden forecourt

WAIT

to the aeropuerto to collect the girls
the elements fluctuate wildly
one minute sunshine
the next a torrential downpour
one minute squinting brightness
the next near darkness
a fierce spray flies up from the wheels of the constant overtakers
lights and windscreen wipers need constant adjustment
whichever setting i choose fails to deal with the weather conditions
at one dip on the other side of the chilterns
the motorway becomes a ford
great splashes of water everywhere
visibility is tenuous
ironic after this long dry spell
i'm actually on time for a change
but the aeroplane isn't
'expected 18:16' reads the arrivals board
it's running 45 minutes late
maybe time for the cloudburst to pass
time for an americano in the arrivals lounge
an inappropriate word for this stark, hard-edged fluorescent space
with its anti-ergonomic metal seats
as i people-watch i am reminded of my brother's comment
'i love heathrow
full of beautiful women from all over the world'
even in this globalised era
and spending my days in a multinational workplace
it's fun to speculate on the origins of this procession of human traffic
to strain for a snatch of lingustic evidence
tempting to take a peak at a tell-tale suitcase label
pretty portugese or brazilian beauty?
danish pastry or double dutch?
chinese, japanese or korean?
i wouldn't bet my life on it most of the time
in between the people-watching
and the fashion parade
i manage to catch up on a few days worth of notebook diary
but still no sign of j & h
it's half past six now
but the double doors leading from the duty free area
are conspicuously underemployed
as all eyes are trained on them from behind the barriers
as if on a catwalk
finally some signs of life
but it's the passengers off another flight from i don't-know-where
one woman emerges before the waiting onlookers
brazenly trolleying along her well-displayed improbably large cleavage
with an equally large grin on her face
there's the usual crowd of miserable-looking meeters-and-greeters
professional waiters
holding up their little placards printed in various scripts
a korean one catches my eye
'sun tours' it says humorously
'torrential tours' more like
at long last
after two hours of waiting
after seemingly two entire planeloads of seoul passengers
have disgorged themselves through the barriers
j & h emerge beaming into the fluorescent spotlight
we embrace in a family hug in the middle of the catwalk
before loading up and setting off back along the motorway
as we catch up on events
it's not until i see signs for reading
that i realize i've forgotten to turn off the m4
next thing i know we've turned into a dead end at some business park
straight out of the opening credits of 'the office'
i keep one eye out for wernham-hogg
as twilight falls
it's a lengthy cross-country stretch through berkshire and buckinghamshire
via a pub dinner at the evocatively named hare's hatch
before we reach the m40
j & h slumber while i count down the long miles
the signs for oxford, bicester, banbury and warwick slowly recede
and it's not long before midnight
when we finally tumble out of the jalopy at number 27
i just can't wait to hit the pillow