POETRY KITe ANTHOLOGY

at random

at random he sits on a section of wall
beside the large boat usually seen from a distance

he ignores it and sits to write
feels the heat of sun on his back

something sensual after days of storm -
ducks and gulls make diva noises
for good weather -
tell him not only humanity
like to have pleasure

then he turns and sees how moss has woven
into the strands of a boat mooring

that here at low tide still lays stretched on the bank
in a rictus of times when strained
on the metal pulley held in concrete beside him

only sun has allowed him to notice
suggested to him it was fine to sit
suggested too this sheltered spot at the river bend

from the same smart wind that has howled the estuary
for enough days to make him question randomness
and the strength of the mooring for this boat
at this bend in the river
for some kind of forever

.

5
(from a series of 56)

the Mothers Union
picknicks
and nitpicks
black hills
golden fields
and questions
“Is he your son?”
“is this the one you adopted?.”
but she
clung to her membership
like a badge
and often whispered
“you are so special
because we picked you.”

so they went
mother and son on
sandcastle afternoons
train trips to New Brighton
in summers that went
on and on and on