for my grandfather

may we both

stand together

silent on memory's shore

admiring the images

and precious things

that will not die

nor fade away

(For my grandfather - Albert Wileman)

a poem in progress

erase that

write it neatly

less hurried

that doesn't work

more emphasis on

no less

I need a ending

not that

too bleak

way too bleak

oh I like that

read it again

just to be sure

ok

are you ready?

you sure?

ok

now let it go

the rose eater

she prefers the reds
they are sweeter than the whites
and silkier than the yellow
sometimes you can see the pulp
washing around her mouth
a whirlpool of crimson
thorns stabbing upwards like shark fins
circling within her thin lips
waiting for the petals
to be shovelled to their deaths

the pianist

beneath Napoleon's hat
the sober pianist
slaughters our requests
Gershwin dies again and again
as his fingers stab the ivories to death
but it is "Summertime"
that finally steers even the barmen to drink

a swaying figure at the bar
lists gently as the boat drunkenly rolls
his foot taps between the missed beats
whilst his hands cling desperately to
his wrecked sobriety
he looks at the ice in his glass
as if it was a Gypsy's crystal ball
searching for the title to the tune
that eludes him
a tune he wants to request
a tune that will die without mercy

as for me
I sit quietly in the corner
praying for icebergs





(On a ferry to France watching a pianist, who was wearing Napoleon's hat, entertain a drunk)

I would fall

I would fall for a whisper
lightly dusted with hope

I would fall for a smile

that I knew was mine

I would fall for a sinner
wrapped within a promise

I would fall for a lie
held within a gentle heart

but I would fall for you
with just a single word
and I would change my course

towards oblivion

I would yield and kneel before you

like the pious and the faithless blind

for you are both the music

and the dance