4 Jan 14
London Grip Magazine
Poetry in the Crypt
Sphinx Chapbook Reviews
Toddington Poetry Society
Poetry Library (digital archive)
Hearing Eye &Torriano
and in the shop…
“The Man Who Wasn’t Ever Here ”,
“Fred & Blossom”
“Tell it Like it Might Be”
(others as listed and linked in biography)
Come with me willingly, let’s visit Blossom in Willingdon;
we’ll stub out our Weights and suck in sweet East Sussex air
as we climb from the grime of our railway carriage at Polegate
then take a Ford taxi, whose cost we shall probably share;
a mere ninety minutes from busy Victoria station
we are deep in the Downs – and all for a quite modest fare.
Calling us urgently, church of St Mary the Virgin
your incense of centuries renders us dizzy and faint:
yet even more thrillingly, we’ve spotted Blossom in Willingdon:
with her long luscious lashes and sweet oval face of a saint
and fine slender figure and excellent legs in silk stockings.
She has paused by the pond in a pose that Rossetti might paint.
The pub is convivial: roughly a shilling in Willingdon
buys a pint of strong ale and a helping of good bread and cheese.
The saloon bar is filling, the landlord is beaming a welcome;
outside in the high street are shopkeepers eager to please.
Blossom strides by them all (did I mention silk stockings already?)
but the pout of her sensuous mouth says she’s not well at ease.
She’s discovering London is chillingly distant from Willingdon –
not in miles or in minutes but units of ennui instead;
it’s the distance to shows and new clothes, to gossip and galleries
and more varied company, not just the well-bred and dead.
Blossom’s afternoon options: she can drive to the Downs or the sea-side;
she can envy the hawks or the gulls as they wheel overhead.