Poetry

Just another assignment. A Tuesday, I think. A Tuesday in January. Bloody cold in that old Manor House. And the car wouldn’t start. Don’t know how I’ll get back. What’s that? No make up? OK. Let’s get on with it. You stand there. By the window. Look out. Look wistful. Can you do bed hair? That’s nice. Sorry it’s so cold. No heating in these old places. Thank God that’s finished. I didn’t like the look of that chair where they put my clothes. Still, too cold for fleas this weather. I hope. He could have given me a lift. The bus is late. Wonder what I’ll have for dinner tonight. Must get some warmer shoes. They say it’s going to snow.

A door left ajar for the residents of The Belmont Funeral Home waiting patiently for the shroud bodies crumbling like a wedge of mousetrap cheese Tears falling for no-one in particular. It's time.

A girl. A smile. A camera. Click. Later: A black-and-white print (No name, no details). Much later: The black-and-white print On eBay. Sold. (No name, no details). The girl - Who knows?

He, not knowing, imperfect instinct. A likeness of her to regenerate this day, Though his days be short. She, knowing all. Intuition sharp and sure. Inscrutable. Divine. With a sideways glance she teases him. Later, he will understand. Now, he sets aperture and speed Wishing she were his camera.

We’re in the country, we had a nice day. You had an ice cream, I bought a postcard But never sent it. Smile for me with those smiley eyes. Let me warm my hands by the heat Of all that redness clothing your body. Let’s hold hands. Let‘s be lovers again today, If only for a day. I’ll send that postcard tomorrow. Maybe. Tamron SP AF 17-50mm f/2.8 XR Di II LD Aspherical (IF) on a Nikon D50.

Here there are no words, no monuments, no inscriptions, not even a crude carving of a protestation of affection, such statements being reserved for lesser trees in public parks where the knife-carrying classes are not over-taxed by distance, and mud. In this quiet corner the moss goes steadily about its business of covering static casualties with a warm green blanket. The insects scurry noiselessly retrieving and reassembling till satisfied with the outcome of their industry. The autumn leaves cling on to memories of grander days, blown by winds to settle next to new companions, yet no less morose over their condition. The wild garlic pokes through, supplying a confident breath. In time it will conceal the ceaseless rearrangement of death. And the differences betwixt last year and the year before: the great gale when the weak were vanquished and the sturdy tested; and the upheaval of the planting programme of eighty-three, and that afternoon the widow came stealthily to make a little hole for the ashes of her deeply loved and much missed husband, and the child who tripped and bled and cried, and the cuckoo which used to come here but now strangely does not - none of this is recorded. For here there are no words, no monuments, no inscriptions. Lacock Abbey, Wilts. Nikon D2Xs + Tamron Di II SP AF 17-50mm f/2.8 XR LD Aspherical lens.

Probably a coincidence that these two appear acquainted. Nikon D90 + Nikkor 18-70mm f/3.5-4.5 G lens.

Canon EOS 40D + Soligor C/D 28mm f/2.8 lens + Minolta Close-Up supplementary lens no.1.

At this point one place becomes confused with the other; And time slips uncontrollably Until like a badly-driven steam engine It stops abruptly, disconcertingly. And I am here, or there; It scarcely matters, For one is as sublime as the other. Nikon D700 + Micro-Nikkor 55mm f/3.5 AI lens.