Lowestoft Holler

There’s this little green town on the East coast
Where work all gets lost in the cloudy smoke
There’s a tan on the beach if you’re visiting
It still comes with cheap chips and ice cream

Every day the sun lifts the darkness
Breaking memories anchored in some trawling past
No crowds fill the streets, they’re in online
Gossiping or gaming over flat wine

Books banked in dust pad the library
While shops stocked in staple brands of jewellery
Alternate with smoking miscellany
As broad across as sacred is our greenery

When you pass by, and you will, don’t be afeared
The East coast is not the place it used to be
As calm and cool as any burg is wont to be
A little slower true, but aren’t we meant to be

 

Creek Crossing

Above the gentle rumble of 114’s motor
There’s the low holla-and-walla of
Internationals making deals and promises.

Sandy squares of Creek-side villas bob by
Shaded by grand yachts
Of the super rich.

Our 1-Dirham dinghy chugs
Slopping to moorings
Crowded with all of those faces of Earth.

Too loud and close
A colossal dhow blazes
Beaming phone-lights and faces…

In it’s wake our disembarkation
Is a hoppy affair
Scuffed sandals and ruffled kandura’s

Jamila

Dust
Grits her yawn
Her wind ruffled pool
Slaps
Fried blue concrete
This Arabian sea-side
Tires her dry eyes while
Tall shadows, bleached parasols
Blur through her
Squinted tears
Blazing her long hot days
Through mocktails
Banal tales
Airport novels
While the palm dials
Time to her
Dubai brightened
Sun

Dog Bark Afternoon

Here is his yellow mug glowing on the deckrail, glinting like a smile in the finally sun.
Chatter of some banal garden variety lilts thru this bright crisp afternoon.
The combi kicks in coughing light clouds of mist
Twisting their dance to our fat clouds of smoke,
Tales and sagas billow in the azure
Building towers of cloudscapes that, like our potholed stories,
Effervesce pleasantly before fading to blue
Utterly
How sweet it is to enjoy a social cup on the first sunny weekday of the year
Yarning with old friends
With new plans and new friends
As the world tilts
Our warm afternoon sun wanes
Clouds freed from neighbouring homes, down the hill, blur this meaningful dusk and
wafted by gull wings,
heralded by the chorus of East coast chirpers and
finally the quiet groan of traffic ebbing again
Now still our evening
Glinting last rays speckle the porch as our door closes happily on the night.
(Combi – abbreviation of ‘Combination Boiler’, the gas machine that heats the water and central heating in our house)

Flat White

Our round moon stares blankly into the fractured dark of space
Down here, erstwhile, two sirens bleat at each other giving chase
They are distant wailing tho’, easily drowned out by the grunting clack
Of some late diesel dragging mountains some way down some local tracks
A murmur close at hand alerts those of us with some keener senses
That neighbours are readying for bed
And above my head
The crash of plates kicks off the rounds of splashing
of drains washing last nights dinners and dreams beneath our feet.
Goodnight sweet Britain
Dream well of burning roads spewing clouds of woe
as cars and buses still rumble late along your sleeping streets.
And race the dawn
When our grey air
Will once again, like magic,
Fill with twits and twittering
Pretty fluttering’s
Sweeping your groggy sleep-glued eyes and brushing the bright of light aside
Breathing fresh breath into your grey old wings.

Truth of Mind?

Confusions of noise
blot any answers from surfacing,
in their stead – a maze of ideas
and questions, idly pass time –
twisting tales;
glancing at even the dimmest stars of truth.

Eventually only these flagrant lies stand firm
and there is no cessation in noise!
Some comfort is found
in the familiarity of these timeless ‘whoppers’.
This barely comforts rhetoric;
but comfort it is –
and all sinew
grapples it securely to heart
– still waiting the truth.

Till time has passed
this day and this night…
Only more exaggerated during the night
and more conscious at day.

Bloody Buses

The air was heavy
fat and foul
with sweat a kind of fear
and then the smallest
then the young ones
spat your sweat
You hold your breath

Our sun grows hotter
ground alive
A mass of bodies scattered
This was the end
we knew it true
the first rain landing spattered.

Redness Goldness
ran in runs
soaking tree flooding parks
drowning drains
flowing on
No you can’t stop
There is no one to
Hold these bloody beasts
from what they’re
built to do