Atticus at Home
My cat, the overachiever
My cat is fat and I won't say he's lazy, but if he 'were to sleep another 30 minutes during the day, he'd be officially dead.
He's almost twenty pounds and showed little interest in
the affairs of the world...
till I painted this picture for him,
“It's all about setting goals for yourself”, I said ,”And reaching your full potential”.
“Blah, Blah, Blah,” was his reply ,coughing up a fur ball.
But I see now he's gone on a diet and just last week I heard
music coming from his room.
“What's that “? I asked my son and he said,
“It's the cat , he's taken up the mandolin,
and he's not half bad”!
A lesson for the ages ,
never underestimate the power of art.
Japanesque Girl 1: The Raincatcher
Japanesque Girl 2: The Wave
Japanesque Girl 3: The Walking Tree
Love's Young Dream
Her perfection unmarred
by a hole in her dress
we floated around
to the band and the stars
leased to us
by the young summer night.
And we vowed and we promised
as if we knew what it meant.
But she couldn't be flawless
she had never been tested...
and I had a button fly off my sleeve.
Street Ghosts (Sisters of Mercy)
Walking past the welders' flare,
their shadows cast wet darkness on
Port Glasgow's bang head cobbles.
I know , I saw them and was afraid to tell
not knowing if they would approve.
Through Friday night pubs they sailed
with non shiny brochures
and all dark and mischievous deeds
would lose their aroma
falling uncontested in their wake.
And faces in a state of grace
could and did
smooth wrinkles on the brows of
for nothing else they
knew but truth and pity
in this under achieving town
where neither stayed too long.
I know , I saw them and was afraid to tell.
The Dog Walkers
I was fond of Judith and she me.
She walked other people's dogs long before it was a bona fide occupation.
We would walk the moorlands above Port Glasgow, overlooking the beautiful River Clyde
with the dogs leaping and cavorting in the heather.
It was my first love and I could foresee a pleasant life together with her.
But I seemed to fall out of favour with the beautiful
Judith, and we drifted apart.
It's maybe just as well...
she always made my leash too tight.
There never seemed to be a time
when they weren't there.
Like nagging doubts or gentle prods
reminders that things are not as they appeared
Unfinished business perhaps,
a task unresolved,
a faint blur on the periphery
borne manfully with little fuss
and no complaint.
I keep the secret naturally.
A buzzing in my ear ,
a small stone in my shoe
small price to pay when sometimes
as the yoke of intolerable cliché
grinds over me as ice age rock,
and normality chokes like tsunami wave,
they glide across my eyes
as flocks of pure white swans
From the lawyer perhaps..
'Just been left that cottage in Dorset
which she's always loved'.
Or a rare book she's been looking for ...
just been found in a booksellers nearby.
It's good news... I think.
A proposal of marriage ...
which may or may not be good news.
But it could be bleak. A death !
People are always dying.
I fear it could be bleak.
The end of a romance.
Termination of employment.
It may just be of course be
the heating bill.
Falling away from a shining season
when we walked the High Street
with hope and a well stitched plan.
A ceaseless bird
with notions that were also mine
glinting in its eye,
sings thoughtfully in a bleak back yard.
faithless tart that she is
comes to wrench the sun lost leaves
from indignant tree.
Her fine hair billowing
with myriad colour,
fine teeth that soon will bite my neck
and peck the eye from spawning fish.
Let her flash her rotted red lipped smile
as death and her legions sing
their annual hymn,
her mouth is a cold betrayal.
But It Matches the Sofa
Lady in Red Hat
Who is she ? By the forsythia
immune to my foolish longing
which I wear
like a pocket watch
chained to my chest.
Yet she knows an oak leaf
tumbling in the dark
of the forest sleeping
or a bird's small shadow
kissing her hat of burnt sienna.
Washed up on the shore
of a distant memory.
A time when there were more,
pulling at the tides.
For lovers to hang a wish on.
For those ladies of ancient worship
to dance in churchyard ruins.
Light to gather mushrooms by
and pin the creeping thief.
A trailing scent of long lost summers
when there were once three moons.
Waiting for a Bus on Alpha Centauri
In the town of Olron lives someone
and I go there when the suns all shine
to be together and to laugh.
Strolling in the dark red grass of City Park
we talk of planets yet unknown
where others walk and dream as we
and rest below a purple tree.
When all the moons are waxing
we spoon in the cool
and wonder if there's love
that thralls the sense
in that strange and bitter cosmos.