Four poems for Corpus Brugge 05, 2005



She leans out of the window
And trims the wisteria
I will write a haiku about
Next spring. She doesn’t see me.

Nor can she know the feeling
That surges up in my heart
As I take her for a moment,
Body scented from the bath,

Hair glistening after its wash.
Totally absorbed in work,
Mistress of a sober mind,
There is no model of her kind.

Published in JAIA or Just As I Am



I remember, when I was young
Mornings like this in bed with women
When my deliciously warm body
Stretched and sported under the sheets.

It was quite normal to be healthy
And virile then. Life owed us a trick.
Nor was it such a colossal deal
To take our clothes off for a chick.

I turn over and gaze at the ceiling,
Dreaming I’m in a cheap cinema
In Peru, Empire of the Sun,
Where my basest deeds were done.

Written specially for CORPUS 05



(and the cotton is high)

A poem printed on her breast,
The big girl in the blue T-shirt
Waltzed across my path. There was
No sign of recognition.

This was hardly surprising
As I didn’t know her from Eve.
But the poem was familiar,
I could have written it myself.

Now I sit here on the kerb,
Notebook in hand, remembering
The Latin Quarter, sixty-nine,
And a plastic bottle of wine.

Published in JAIA or Just As I Am



I paste the skeleton of my day
In its familiar blue dressing-gown
To the black window in front of me.

For once in my life I am awake,
My bones connected to each other,
My heart pounding, my nostrils open.

From my throat to my bladder the tea,
The Oxfam biological tea,
Makes its pleasurable night-time journey.

The days are getting longer. More fun
To be had with my friends and my wife,
The patient lady who knows me best.

The fingers which hold this Parker pen
Used to explore the jungles of sex.
Dawn arrives, doing her usual strip.

Written specially for CORPUS 05