On the Pilgrim’s Way

Some nights when the air is soft
When the frailest bird song has stilled
To a sweet scented, timeless tenderness
Then, a tentative faith creeps in.

Earlier a sharp and magisterial light
Fixed upon some slant of brickwork
On a half-ruined gable end
Had caught my attention.

As we watched skimming swallows
Trace the delineated contours
Of a deserted village
It was as if time had left our pilgrimage

It was transitory but I felt weightless
As if we were boundless
Locked like stars
In an ever present continuum
With the constellations
Orion, Pegasus,
The hunter and the hunted
Burning with a new intensity-
Carrying the torch of infinity


Worksop

I am invisible-dead to this town
After thirty four years
Why should you recognise me?

I lived here once and felt no strangeness
Was born and bred, raised
Found empathy and disillusion
On theses streets, splayed my dreams
Broke my heart on a foolish kiss
Took my punches, drank to excess
Opened my heart to what was promised.

Now a draw myself inwards-fade
To a dot in your distance
Absorbing your cold indifference.

I am the Polish guy, sitting on the steps
Of your town hall, mumbling his regrets
Like him I am not what you made me-
For I am what I think I am
And nothing more.