Legs aching
Britannia in front of me
The Empire long gone
With the rolling hills
And endless green fields
Of England in my mind.
The bustling streets of London filled with sights, sounds and smells
Of coffee, food, and unwashed people
Taste of history on my tongue
Persecution and injustice in my mind
All of us walking here unawares
No time to understand or to think
Appreciate each other
When the world needs it most.
Feel the rush of the night on my skin
As car lights search the shadows
and the neon signs pull at dark corners
The tugging of a young heart
after adventure and thrill
as he stares into the yawning night.
Oh Canada, O Canada, Ah Canada!
You’ve treated me well
through no decision of your own.
As your Christmas lights twinkle on the streets
And as Christmas jazz rings out on Wave 98.3
I can look back on it all.
Your majestic landscapes embraced me
as I stood in the palm of Their hands
Embraced me tight when I needed it most
As I showed myself how to be
once more content in my own skin;
I know you had something to do with that.
Your splendid concert halls rang and echoed
with Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky and fellow musicians
My heart rings out with life anew.
This was a séjour of all the senses,
of all the emotions.
I will cherish it
I will cherish you for evermore.
Your Christmastime saxophone blares
good tidings for all
As in the palm
of Nature’s hand we stand
O help us coexist
in harmony
May festive jazz ring out
on this blessed planet for evermore.
Four months have I resided in your cradle
and savoured your hospitality
You showed me your troubles
and I unveiled mine
But together we learned from each other:
I saw your beauty
and you saw mine.
Tired from a long day’s walk
we rest our weary feet
and sit around a table to meet
and cover the missed day’s talk.
The five lads sitting opposite
take out banjo and fiddle alone
playing, singing tunes of evermore
washing away life’s grime and grit.
The young and naïve poet sitting nearby
tries to capture the jovial mood
but his pen’s no match for the fiddle’s shrewd
tunes of times long whizzed by.
The cold warmth of the autumnal indoors
brings us together here across the world
what an amazing life it is, I behold
the Celtic music healing my sores.
Over the rocky mountains
Shadows of grey on black
Absent are the light fountains
A distant travelling pack
A twinkle of light down below
Shining on my deep desires
Of living in nature’s mellow
Amongst the tree spires
Perhaps these cathedrals of stone
Can quell the mind’s races
Preaching in their grand tone
Of life’s past traces
Perhaps the hush of greenery
And eternal calm of peace
Will wash away the misery
And provide sought truce.
Flying over Canada, over the unseen peaks and valleys
Not knowing what in life I seek,
But write poetry on planes
(Every flight I do)
It’s beyond relieving to rest one’s mind,
To let your mind’s eye rest
To let it breathe deeply
And close and dream
I wonder what dreams this will form
Dreams of my beloved,
Dreams of harsh happenings
Dreams of travelling, of the life to be
I wonder, I wonder what it will all be
I wonder what the peaks of life will bring
Will they be like the unseen peaks below?
Shrouded in the night, veiled by cloud
Oh I look for someone to look to
For guidance, for comfort, for answers
But they are delayed,
perhaps never to arrive.
Instead, I seek answers from my thoughts,
Which plunge into dark mountainous waterfalls
Which I must observe from afar.
New city, by the beach
The crashing of the waves tuned with
Stranded by Van Morrison
An ocean and a continent away
The chatter and laughter of foreign voices
Prickles like sea hedgehogs of far lands
I like to travel through film
through travelling emotions
to different worlds
to the other side of the road
where the grass is greener
that’s what we believe
until we arrive and find out
it’s burned from the drought.
The heavy breadth of history
weighs down the paving stones
of civilisations’ former glories
and the crunch of fallen soldiers’ bones
This is the shadow in this city
behind the mosque and marble bath
standing tall, proud and mighty
right off consumerism’s path
But five days and I’ve grown to love
this city with its great mishmash
of the tulip and palm tree grove
to variform crowds’ pressing crush
Packed with people poor and rich, t-shirted or covered,
sprawling around the hills like its many cats
through winding jarring hilly streets nearby abducted
by skyscrapers crawling upwards like rats
I will be back, in awe, I tell myself
knowing I will need to get my fix
to add more to experiences’ bookshelf
next time, stay longer: a week, maybe six
What a city, what a grand place
Istanbul, you’ve blown me away
farewell till again I see your face
I’m sure you’ll have much to say.
Holding banana bread in my hand
A bit soggy, like the weather outside.
The raindrops crumple against the windscreen
as the banana bread crumples in my mouth
It’s more of a squish than a crumple, really.
Not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
Driving away from Christmas
Towards Bruges, being
a tourist at home
A glimpse of the cars streaming past
Like the raindrops
(only, thankfully, a bit more stable)
Sitting in the passenger seat,
the well-dressed man’s asleep
His wife, girlfriend, sister?
an earphone hanging from one side
In another car, the BMW driver
grimaces at the greyness of the world
as we pass over the local river.
It’s a funny language, Dutch
like lots of boiled potatoes falling apart
in your mouth
throw in some nails and beer for good measure
adding some nuance for the pronunciation.
I’d keep on writing here, but we’ve arrived
And now it’s time for me to look at pretty houses
As Chris Rea echoes down the street
Hold my banana bread
as I engage in conspicuous capitalism