My Diary

(written some years ago, it almost still makes sense)

 

Castellated protection,
Rising to the clouds,
Unscaleable,
Unbreachable,
A shield undefeated.

Drawbridge eternally locked ,
No trickery,
No deception,
No corruption,
Will overcome
Locks forged in Hell.

The castle stands,
Unbowed,
A safe haven,
A secure port,
A sanctuary unbreakable,
For my heart.

 

 

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Passing lives

(sitting in a warm coffee house today it was hard to ignore the individuals passing by or inhabiting the glassed walled room)

salt and pepper haired,
nether aged,
silent cornered,
laptop hypnotised,
mobile phone grafted to ear,
ringing cathedral loud,
answered megaphone loud,
his business now our business;

office hurried buxom girl,
shoulder strap half-masted,
sailing half-masted,
bag bedraggled,
black straightened hair a sail in full set,
coffee tight fist wrapped,
a takeaway shot to shoot away hours hard seated,
suit harassed;

coffee house female assistant,
black robed,
one word loaded,
‘enjoy’,
smile enticing fake friendship,
word widened by long earning orders,
menu list confident,
robotic repetition ricocheted,
a brained beauty awaiting freedom.

grey  regular urgent shuffles,
minutes late punished
by a different table,
routine routed,
same order caffeine coughed,
to maintain order in his unordered
lonely life;

tight jeaned,
tight topped,
black braided long locks,
fresh landed on new shores,
looking for streets paved
with gold,
finding pavements cold coated
with bronze,

young mother slow walking,
hand in hand with blonde
miniature replica,
worn boots scuffling forlorn,
wondering where dreams of everlasting love dissipated
into monotonous minutes time monopolised
by small mouth never sated;

young youth outside slumped,
cheapest coffee table rotting,
cigarette lip hung,
smoked to last pre-filtered inch,
hair waving all ways,
unloved and unloving,
parka-ed against all weathers and obstacles,
satchel strap loose,
not school life supporting,
but a life leather wrapped within,
battered and secondhand.

 

 

 

Strummed out

(Another poem written while consuming an early morning coffee, inspired by a lone guitarist on the pedestrian street)

2017-09-30 09.24.02

Grey hair bun-tied,

left leg beating the beat,

sunglasses shading eyes from cloudy skies,

strumming for a latte,

or something stronger,

interrupted by handshaking passersby,

well-wishing with zipped up wallets,

reliving teenage hopes of fame,

and one night stands,

now playing for pennies,

and one night hostel rooms,

80s Brit pop mixed with 60s simple shorties,

thinking he cuts a mean Mick Jagger in a rundown seaside town,

watching rainclouds drift,

not groupies beckoning,

crowds drifting around his island of 6 string melancholy melodies,

voice strident strong as they pass with eyes shopfront fixed,

even the seagulls have pecked the red button to exit,

raindrops fall,

but no happy cyclist with handlebar girl is he,

another rainy morning with cap waterfilled,

and coin deserted,

by dusk enough for a beer,

and dreams of what might have been,

decades lost ago.

 

2017-09-30 09.24.41

 

 

Round goes the gossip

(written in coffee house, one quick edit at home…)

Round goes the gossip,
north country accents machine gunning in a southern seaside town,
reshaping body shapes for coffee charged window-wishing dress buying,
Christmas decorations crisis early exhorted,
texting daughters rapid reply replayed,
head-nodded knowing,
proud envy sigh-shared;
make up base colours cross-checked,
creamier cream over beiger beige,
promised swift swap of free freebies,
vicious visits to inviting in-laws quick-chatted,
shops right rated by cross counter intercourse,
a sex of dancing words;
roads flash flooded in drenched downpours,
washing unhung as stair rods descended;
faded curtains charity shop listed,
husband’s lazy languidity sigh head-shook,
life’s quirky queries countered in ten minutes
girl-buddied word volley.

 

 

 

Market marketing

2017-09-07 09.14.51

Stallholders stalling,
watching,
waiting,
breakfast burger half devoured,
publicly chewing,
publicly watched,
eyes staring like a fisherman’s bait,
catching eyes,
a caught contact the first line of a contract;
hands back grasped,
nervous fingers counting empty,
in empty palms,
coffee cups dreg dredged,
cold liquid for comfort to a body belt lightweight in cash,
buggies one handed push by,
screen hypnotised mother’s see no market,
only messages of nothingness,
pensioners wander pleasant smiling, morning greeting,
pleased to interact in a lonely world of absent work and offspring, non-buying,
false hope to enduring stallholders,
the young work weaving,
drink and food finger-balanced on speedy sprint to waiting desks,
ignorant of table merchandise:
flowers, books, clothes, teas, breads, organic milk,
fast flying by;
the sun lifts cloudy shades,
warming bodies bring warming words,
smiles and jokes bring clicking wallets,
a sale,
a sale,
a sale from precarious futures.

 

And wow! Quite a ‘medium’ coffee in Costa’s…

2017-09-07 08.56.47

 

Coffee House Rendezvous

2017-09-05 09.43.43

Late middle age agitation,
beige colour-washed in clothing and mind,
early morn coffee,
ciggie seated,
eyes wandering,
recapturing youth tho’ wrinkled and pilled up,
vacant hopes as damp as the drizzle falling around the wet washed smoking zone,
outcast and outdated,
out of step with youth fast passing whose screens quick-flick with lives sped read by,
their days long spread ahead,
minutes like hours slow passing,
mealtimes the office bells of a life rapid passing slow to a rolating highway to a homeless Home,

offspring long gone to hours wage-tied,
lives child-chained,
TV schedules their timetabled replacement for school routines
secret revisited in daydreams
of a future once more glittering in hopes,

elders sit grouped in playground reminiscence,
roles replayed,
carrier bags and walking sticks,
not satchels and cricket bats,
talks of prescriptions and missed appointments,
of customer service and missing buses,
not gossip of TV heroes, friendship breakups,
the sweetest tasting sweets and sticker swapping successes,
cold dregs now swished,
stubbed stubs ground,
they depart all ways west to window shop and bus stop dawdle,
till the hissing coffee machine recalls them,
the next nameless day.

 

Second thoughts from the coffee house

2017-08-28 10.31.08

A third poem I scribbled down while sat in the coffee house yesterday. Said shop has an attractive frontage as you can see from the photo above.

Cigarette lip dangling,
jeans overtight on a body overweight,
bacon sandwich ill-consumed,
chatter-gossip seething loud,
TV channels daily gazed with reality stars withdrawn from reality,
loud voiced nothings fill her space,
words of make ups and break ups,
cheerleader T-shirt slogan embossed,
evenings twirled in girl gossip and tumbling batons,
a life full-lived short and meaningfully empty.

In the afternoon I went book hunting. Nothing in Waterstones made me want to open the wallet but a browse in my favourite second-hand bookstore quickly resulted in the purchase of three quite ‘dark’ volumes. All three are in good condition and I look forward to reading them, possibly in the coffee house, although I do find it hard to concentrate on books in such places, I find them more conducive as locations for making notes on writing or people-watching.

2017-09-03 11.34.01

A long walk along the seafront at 8.15 this morning, two people were swimming in the sea and the usual dogwalkers and cyclists were around. The seafront cafe I visited twice over last weekend was just opening up on my return walk but I resisted the temptation for yet another coffee. Tomorrow is Writers’ Group at a local hotel so a latte or cappuccino or two will be consumed there.