London Peace March 15th February 2003
There were Reverends and Rockers,
housewives and children.
There were old friends and new friends,
There were Christians and Muslims,
Communists and Buddhists.
And banners, such banners,
banners for peace.
There were dancers and drummers,
and children in pushchairs.
There were priests and our poets,
and grannies in wheelchairs.
There were students and stilt walkers,
and a brave paraplegic.
And a man with his toy gun,
lit by his laughter,
blowing bubbles, such bubbles.
Bubbles for Peace
I am in the harebell,
and the hawthorn.
I am in the devilís-bit
and yellow coltsfoot.
I am in the blue,
the blue of the footpath geranium.
I am in the landscape;
a time of roses.
I’d forgotten how beautiful you are,
had seen you on my last year’s walks:
naked, arms aloft
silhouetted against blue-gold skies.
Fingers curled like a dancer’s,
rooted in your being.
Clad in autumn remnants,
you blaze like a cathedral
in this early-morning winter light.
My shed contains:
creosote, seeds, garden tools.
A mower for the grass
and gloves of different sizes.
It is an oasis,
a place where ideas are born.
An arch adorned with clematis,
dog roses, philadelphus and
a new place for poppies or the Acer.
My study contains:
ideas for work with other artists
and reference books of every kind.
It is a place of outlines and honing,
of drafting and dreaming.
a temple of ideas.
each sustaining the other.