THE SCHOOL WALK

it's rush-hour but we're in no hurry
the woodle and i are plodding happily down the lane
hand in hand
as we enter the park the dew-soaked grass sparkles in the sunlight
we debate the route:
straight on across the bridge and up past the kiddies playground
or around the lake and across the muddy patch by the motorcycle barrier
thinking of my shoes i bend to the woodle's request
and take the crunchy gravel path skirting the lake
keeping one eye out for freshly fallen conkers
it's time to start off a general knowledge quiz:
name four birds that we often see on the lake
woodle takes the question in her stride:
canada goose, swan, brown duck (mallard) and...
(just then we meet a small red-beaked bird hobbling painfully beside the path)
...moorhen
we stop to watch the injured bird with curiosity
then, unable to help, continue through the gap in the fence
we pass bill's house on the corner
and cross the soulless mock-tudor housing estate
where half the properties seem to be for sale or to let
the bristol road is a blur of impatient traffic
grimacing car-owners tightly focused on their school runs or commutes
we imperiously stop the traffic under the protection of the green man
before disappearing through another gap in another fence
back into the mysterious labyrinth of the bournville village estate
i belatedly resume the general knowedge quiz
even though the woodle's not really up for it today:
which country do volkswagen cars like ours come from?
(silence)
clue: it's a european country beginning with 'g'
(silence)
another clue: ivan and ruby's mommy grew up there
germany!
now we trip the light fantastic through bournville park
then a laurel and hardy moment:
a family of helmeted cyclists get amusingly tangled up with an elderly couple and their dog
the woodle's bag is getting heavy so i offer to carry it
the school entrance mills with well-to-do mums and their dawdling offspring
at the bottom of a steep flight of stone steps
under the watchful eye of the carillon
i kiss my darling daughter a fond farewell
and retrace my steps through the meandering green lung of bournville

RED SKY IN THE MORNING

blood red sky floods the horizon
leaking into my day
shepherd's warning melts the soft ice cream clouds
singeing the treetops
orange afterglow warms my skin
stirring me from heady sleep

BLOOD, SWEAT & TEARS

the sweat of the sun
drips from my brow
the tears of the moon
spill from my eyes
the dust of the stars
shines in my hair
the blood of the dark night
oozes from the pores of my skin

PARADOX

a man's greatest strength is his greatest weakness
the more numerous his possessions
the more he fears their loss
the greater his talent
the less his application
the finer the bloom of his physical beauty
the greater the suffering of his fading looks
the more developed his perfectionist's eye
the more he misses the bigger picture
the broader his overview
the narrower his grasp of the fine detail
the higher his pinnacle of achievement
the more precipitous his fall from grace

LA VIDA CONTEMPLATIVA

i gaze through the glass into the middle distance
vaguely registering the little rivulets of rain
as they meander down my windscreen
half noticing the cars that ghost across my rear-view mirror
then pull in and park
the drivers who stumble untidily out, fumbling for umbrellas
the scruffy kids in badly-fitting green school uniforms who trudge past
the harrassed parents armed with lethal pushchairs
barking at their errant offspring
briefly they stray into the fringes of my field of concentration
then are gone
for i sit calmly on a faraway riverbank
watching the ripples cross the surface of the water
sipping wine from a tall slender glass
listening to the soothing calls of thrushes
and the sweet poetry that my companion reads to me

CULTURE CLASH

for the last couple of months
i have spent the long hours of my paid employment
cloistered in a classroom
with five fresh-faced chinese high school-leavers
they go under such cutesy monikers as flora, sky and...monica!
i wonder what these inscrutable teenagers must make of their experience
accustomed as they are to the invisibility of a class of sixty other
suddenly thrust iinto the full glare
of this prancing, grimacing, gesticulating foreigner
with his messy blond hair and big blue eyes
his pale skin and pointy nose
his penchant for flowery shirts and corduroy jackets
for tossing out awkward questions
and playing the devil's advocate with the answers
most of the time the default setting is bewilderment
they simply cannot detect my irony
although they are nice kids
and our senses of humour somehow manage to intersect often enough
for a little rapport to develop
for example in the cafe at winterbourne house
when i brandish a mini-tub of margarine with the flora logo
(i'd been longing to do that since the start of the course)
and everyone including flora gets the joke...

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