OUTWARD BOUND
\n(erring & straying in Bruges)<\/p>\n
Responsibility is something I owe only to I close the front door and cross the street Having got all that down on paper The strangest things happen You too had better get moving. A cobblestoned sycamore driveway This is now photographed a thousand Unperturbed I wander on. I’ve got Tables invade a sunny little square Leather was tanned here once. The stench Street of the Blind Donkey: necklines plunge If you exist, you could easily be wondering I’ve overcome exhaustion, soldier on. In this green cathedral I now stand My pace quickens. In a nearby street That went smoothly. A green dustbin 23 July 14<\/p>\n HEAVENLY VISITOR<\/p>\n Suddenly my Angel’s there. ‘Ask me whatever comes to mind,’ ‘Namo Amida Butsu!’ – <\/em>Lord 21 July 14<\/p>\n FIVE A.M.<\/p>\n Fruit flies in the fridge OUTWARD BOUND (erring & straying in Bruges) Responsibility is something I owe only to myself. All other responsibility is a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-563","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-all","category-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.olioweb.me.uk\/marcus\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/563","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.olioweb.me.uk\/marcus\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.olioweb.me.uk\/marcus\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.olioweb.me.uk\/marcus\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.olioweb.me.uk\/marcus\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=563"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.olioweb.me.uk\/marcus\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/563\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.olioweb.me.uk\/marcus\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=563"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.olioweb.me.uk\/marcus\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=563"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.olioweb.me.uk\/marcus\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=563"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n<\/em>myself. All other responsibility is a bind.<\/em><\/p>\n
\ninto the alleyway opposite.
\nMy speed is roughly one mile an hour.
\nI just make it to the sun-splashed bench
\nin what used to be the prison yard.<\/p>\n
\nand none the worse for wear, I heave
\na sigh of relief. The universe,
\naccording to Einstein, is friendly
\nand it responds to imagination.<\/p>\n
\nwhen you leave home sweet home,
\nheading nowhere slowly. Families
\non an organized wild-goose chase
\nstart singing & dancing frenetically
\nwhere prisoners once used to exercise.<\/p>\n
\nTiny brown leaves are drifting past,
\nlast November’s neglected coinage.
\nA change of scenery will do you good,
\na little movement loosen up your brain.<\/p>\n
\nleading outwards from the listed portal,
\nwhere parked cars slumber in the shade
\nor grunt reluctantly into action,
\nends with a view that Rilke knew –
\nthe Belfry with canal and swan.<\/p>\n
\ntimes a day by awkward Chinese visitors
\non their way to Amsterdam (they think).
\nThat was before they picked up a drink,
\nyou must <\/em>come to Belgium for the beer,
\nand tumbled into a waiting motor-boat.<\/p>\n
\na whole afternoon to travel nowhere
\nand back, without losing my balance.
\nI dump a pot-pourri of human noise
\nand jingling bells into my travelogue.<\/p>\n
\nwhere happy souls are lunching in the air.<\/p>\n
\nof urine must have reached this bench
\nhere on the Fish Market, occupied
\nby a weaver and his female tribe
\nseen through the Burgomaster’s spectacles.
\nDon’t worry, you’ll get there if you try.<\/p>\n
\nand cameras come out again in force.
\nI see the Hall where we were married
\nby a plump gentleman wearing a sash
\nfrom the refreshing shadows of a chestnut.<\/p>\n
\nhow I feel, watching these strolling crowds
\nand being watched by three or four of them
\nin interactive harmony. Reasonably well,
\nafter those sleepless hours by candlelight
\nconversing with an Angel on my double bed.<\/p>\n
\nStopping to lean against a sycamore,
\nI stretch my broken elbow on its trunk,
\nmy back to the petanque, oldies like me
\nchasing cannon balls into the grave.<\/p>\n
\nwith an astronaut’s pen in one hand
\ngiven to me by a friendly Greek
\nwith whom we spent a pleasant week
\nvisiting my father’s wartime haunts.<\/p>\n
\nwhere office workers come to eat
\nI’m about to deliver a fresh poem
\nto the lovely Angel of yesterday.
\nI’m sane. My feet are on the ground.<\/p>\n
\non the sun-baked square lends me its lid
\nto lean on. A smoking black girl passes.
\nI have almost reached the outward goal
\nof this unsentimental journey nowhere.
\nI go on walking like a spent arrow
\nfalling in between two poised armies
\nat the opening of a Flemish Geeta.<\/p>\n
\n
\nAnd even as I say this line
\nwith practiced artistry and care,
\nshe bends in front of me, divine.<\/p>\n
\n<\/em>that winged and brooding vision says.
\n‘My Name!’ (<\/em>for I am old and blind) –
\nthe query tumbles from my head.<\/p>\n
\nhave mercy on our human race.
\nI never heard a kinder word
\nor saw such comfort in a face.<\/p>\n
\n
\nthis first Friday of August –
\nlife on Mother Earth.<\/p>\n
\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"