1013 - Long day's journey into Salford

Sitting here in the Manchester Museum
While Josie colours in all her pictures
For two weeks now, we’ve come here for a swim
But the big pool was closed down for repairs
Wasting no time, we flew straight out of there
And came here for a curious look round
We saw glass cases full of stuffed creatures
Bats, foxes, rabbits, birds that made no sound…
Then later, walking to United’s ground
Along the Ship Canal side; evening sun
Shone on us and the Lowry while we paused
For refreshment; then past the Quays we wound
Our way back to my flat. The total sum
Of this was we had our best time for years!
Sat 13 June 2009

1007 - On the rocks

The big white bear balances awkwardly
On a Glacier Mint, melting, melting
He’ll need to grow fins and webbed feet quickly
So few fish, plenty of room for swimming
No shortage of water, levels rising
I shouldn’t have quit going to the pool
Or bottled out of lessons in surfing
In future, maybe kids will surf to school
But more water, more rain’s usually the rule
So life for them could be wet and windy
Enough of this, it’s far too depressing!
Environmental thinking’s rather cruel
Instead I fancy jetting to the sea
Before it ends, let’s keep on enjoying!
Sun 7 June 2009

999 - Sunshine beats football

Today we had to go down to the sea
And paddle in its waters in the sun
But finding a good beach is not easy
We went to West Kirby, a nearby one
The sea’s too far out, even if you run
Josie and me walked over endless sand
Past countless spirals invisibly spun
On carpets of shells, each one abandoned
To two seemingly far distant islands
One is called Little Eye, and one Hilbre
On the first one, we sat and ate chicken
We walked on, pointing out crab skeletons
Soon after, we visited my Mummy
Who reminded me the Cup Final’s on
Sat 30 May 2009

933 - Hole in my shoe

A hole in my shoe's letting in water
But my new shoes cannot be worn because
When I last wore them, I got a blister
And that's why I'm still wearing my old shoes
The weather forecast's given me the blues
More rainfall coming than on plains in Spain
But what is to be done? I cannot choose
Between wet socks or this severe foot pain
Oh cobblers! I can’t hobble on, it's plain
Planning's afoot - already a plaster
Is fixed on my blister, so don't accuse
Me of dragging my feet. My sole complaint
Is I'm sick of wet socks. Oh, reporter
Please bring me sunshine for my soaking toes
Wed 25 Mar 2009

775 - Song of the earth and the sea

Listening to Mahler’s ‘Lieder’ while I write
Well, not much time today to hang around
Besides, it’s always fun to combine sight
And even insight, with a clashing sound
That struggles against them, like when waves pound
Against the steadfast rocks, splashing, seeming
To be smashed to fragments of foam; but ground
Is only today what water’s giving
Tomorrow rock will crumble at the sting
Of vicious tongue-lashing, of dark sea’s spite
Venting its endless spleen in bay and sound
No harbour will be safe, so keep sailing
On wavy hills so hungry as they bite
All rotten hulls to bits. All sea-bed bound
Sat 18 Oct 2008

738 - Sea change

The Arctic's melting, and storms more frequent
So higher sea levels and heavier rain
Assault these precious islands nature lent
But seems to be taking away again
A nation of King Canutes stands in vain
Waving away the rising tides of doom
We can't all live on hills, desert the plain
We can't all build an ark, can't find the room
To park on Ararat, so I assume
The high ground is where the smart money's spent
The cock is crowing and the weather vane
Is spinning madly while the church's tune
Distorted by its hatred of the bent
Is joined by Neroic fiddle-playing
Thur 11 Sep 2008

710 - Swimming with jellyfish

Must write this quick, last day of holiday
It’s ending a day early (argument)
Been a really pleasant warm sunny day
Down Kimmeridge Bay where me and daughter went
Looking for fish with a small net, backs bent
As we gingerly trod the rocks and weed
Portuguese men o’ war had just been sent
Into this bay and nearby ones, I read
In yesterday’s paper, so we agreed
Not to go swimming in the shimmering bay
Those toxic tentacles of bright blue meant
A boy went to hospital, sad indeed
When trying to enjoy his holiday
Like me, poisoned by stinging incident
Thur 14 Aug 2008

706 - Camps, coasts and castles

We drove out of the caravan park fast
Or else I’d have to swim with my daughter
In the open-air pool, drowned out by blasts
Of cheesy pop from very loudspeakers
Hi-de-hi campers, hi-de-ho chavvers
Took the steam train to Swanage by the sea
But no cruise round the cliffs; the strong breezes
Meant boat rides cancelled. Try again Monday
Corfe Castle and its village, so pretty
The hilltop view lit by the sun at last
The green landscape, drunk on daily downpours
Stretched out, an endless quilt in front of me
The broken castle’s echoes of the past
Where now lies peace, once knee-deep in slaughter
Sun 10 Aug 2008

693 - The pier disappears

The old Grand Pier at Weston is no more
That peerless western town is now pierless
The sands appear very much as before
But no more crested by white towers; a mess
Of blackened wood floats in the foam. Careless
Kids hunt for souvenirs, boats roam around
The wreck, surveyors strain necks to assess
The cost, now Weston’s lost its favourite ground
Old wooden walk, where sea breezes surround
Where fat old ladies, fat young mothers pour
More red sauce on their chips to match their chest
And shoulders; men show torsoes to the town
White into red, like people, the pier tore
Its skin to ashes in fiery flashes
Mon 28 July 2008

609 - Sonnet sea

I’m almost drowning in a sonnet sea
My head is spinning and needs oxygen
Been transferring them all to this site, see,
And now I’m bloody sick of seeing them
But each one individually’s my friend
A relic of each day that I’ve lived through
Since September ’06, and though days end
A record of each one’s there to review
And what more do we have than our own view
In that blink of an eye, mortality
So, as with old photos, let’s look again
At how we felt, for memories are few,
Distorted, simplified, mere fantasy
But we can rely on what we wrote then
Mon 5 May 2008

608 - Water and other drags

My eyes hurt. I hate swimming. Where’s the fun?
Soaking your face in chlorine is a drag.
You smell funny, even when shower’s done,
Then carry home your wet things in a bag.
Still, in school swimming lessons I could brag
And demonstrate a good front crawl technique
(Though rather slow), but where I’d really flag
Was front crawl foot action. I felt so weak
After two lengths at swimming club midweek
Holding a float, by all overtaken,
Even small girls. ‘This surely ain’t my bag.’
I quit mid-’75 at the peak
Of mediocrity. Preferred to run
Or cycle after that. Or smoke a fag.
Sun 4 May 2008

577 - A slightly bigger splash

We’re in the swimming pool. Kids shout and play.
Balls land nearby and splash us in the face.
Old ladies, old men slowly stroke their way,
Kicking us if we stand in the wrong place.
Young women, shy or proud at pool’s edge, pace
Like panthers to and from the changing room,
While mother hens with toddlers - there’s a brace
Chatting in the shallows - do not assume
Attractiveness; flowers past their early bloom.
The safety staff: some talk and laugh, but they
Also lean singly against walls, a base
From which to wish the big clock’s hands would zoom.
While formerly Josephine’s head would stay
Dry, now it gets wet. (Lessons not a waste!)
Thur 3 Apr 2008

396 - Size zero models: where does the fault lie?

Size zero models: where does the fault lie?
Do men or women take the blame, d’you think?
Do all men love skeletal girls? Then why
Is there such pressure to look like a drink
Of water, streak of piss? There she goes! Blink
And you’ll miss her. Beware her dagger bones
When you’re kissing and cuddling, on the brink,
But struggling to hold on to her. Her moans
May just be hunger. Old feminist groans
Forgotten in mad rush to surgery.
Boob jobs reverse gravitational sink,
Enlarge, reduce, shapeshifting paid with loans.
Investing in sexist society,
Conforming, confirming. Pretty in pink.
Fri 5 Oct 2007

361 - The last sea-swim of summer's short season

The last sea-swim of summer’s short season
I swim in Sheringham, over the rocks
Too sharp to stand on, arcing hands upon
The shiny shifting surface as it knocks
And rocks and lifts and drops, pushes or blocks.
Cloud cover covers all but this corner
Near Cromer; over here the water looks
Clear, warmer; I ought to say lukewarmer.
I fought the spray to delay the drama
Of calmer summer becoming freezing
Winter water, as autumn winds the clocks
And cocks its ear towards that dark mourner
Who storms in unerringly, the breeze gone;
From shore’s safety see Neptune shake his locks.
Fri 31 Aug 2007

360 - Cruising past the flat lands lower than sea

Cruising past the flat lands lower than sea-
Level, which the sea one day may swallow
Again; sailing down the River Waveney,
We wave at other boats that come and go.
Will future generations ever know
This gentle fusion of toil and leisure,
As diggers unearth soil and cattle grow
Fat, in fine fettle, a land of pleasure.
A boat called ‘Endless Summer’ leaves the shore,
Chugging along all optimistically,
Though winds are whipping and the clouds are low,
And change is written by autumn’s author.
Meanwhile, men sit and fish along the quay,
And, for the time being, things still move slow.
Thur 30 Aug 2007

356 - I tried swimming against the tide but failed

I tried swimming against the tide but failed,
Finding that I was swimming on the spot;
I tired swimming against the tide, and sailed
With ease through these blue seas as sun shone hot.
People, people, everywhere, drink a lot,
Filling the seaside cafes, nursing beer;
At the foot of the lighthouse they all squat
Like thirsty ants around a matchstick tower.
From Southwold’s busy shops, under the pier,
I swam against the tide, and my arms flailed
And tasted bitter salt, not from the pot,
But from the top of the sea’s giant tear.
The pier by dead carpenters’ hands was nailed,
And waves of time combine to make wood rot.
Sun 26 Aug 2007

340 - If you look back, it's so miraculous

If you look back, it’s so miraculous
How all the elements worked out just right,
That this ain’t a collapsing universe,
That our sun’s not too dull and not too bright.
Our ancestors survived more than one blight
From timely, almost God-sent meteor
That altered evolution overnight,
Eliminating mammal’s predator.
Now safely grown in size and brain, we’re more
Advanced than life on other planets worse-
Supplied with water, atmosphere and light,
But our advancement makes our defence poor:
If earth were hit again, records of us
Would lie buried, read by mole and termite.
Fri 10 Aug 2007

172 - At 4am you wake from wine-dark sleep

At 4am you wake from wine-dark sleep,
The usual dreams of sexual fulfilment
Erupt, then interrupted. Makes you weep.
Disrupted bedclothes flung back as you went
Feeling your way to where a penny’s spent.
You’re in there and your urine’s in the bowl,
The wine turned back to water, now hell-bent,
While you tiptoe to kitchen like you stole
Something. But all you’re after is a whole
Glass of cold water. Feel refreshment seep
In life-restoring drops so heaven-sent
Your body becomes a praise-giving soul
That prayed for rain when rivers ran less deep
And now sends thanks up to the firmament.
Fri 23 Feb 2007