Bournemouth 3

Streeteasied or Rightmove.co.uk-ed,

a kernel of thought starts up,

well Mary Shelley is buried here,

if it was good enough for her -

and then would she have died,

if she knew there would be a

"...well-preserved polychrome Gothic shopping arcade”

in Westbourne and that electricity would be

even more monolithic than she imagined

and there would be

lights strung up there still

and that me or someone else like me,

who did alright, who has no reason

to come home,

but could,

would, blinking through the drizzle,

at the golden glow it has smeared

recognise an exhale,

becoming a murmur,

becoming lips forming shapes

becoming mantra -

Ah, nice gift shop,

I mean yes, we could, why not

and why?

revival

berries and the early days of the prophet 

on the stereo waves
a kind of domestic bliss
of time travel 
to the bedroom boom box
the cactus in bloom
after a 13 year hibernation 
a reminder that life force 
is ever present somewhere in there
and no guilt 
when the spark is buried too deep
to reach
but a simple gratitude for moments
of knowing just what would bring joy
and then there it is
a revival so sweet

Skipped

Their important words skipped 
like stones over the river 
flung with abandon, 
a practiced arm.  

I begged to hold 
the stones in my hand, admire
closely the pinkish grooves and grit, 
and warm them. Instead,

I followed every arc and splash, 

squinting for the sake of us.  

And they kept hurling
across the river their words,

as if they were weightless.