My Friend Peter

2012 026

Today I heard
my friend Peter,
was not here any more.

He had decided
to put on his big construction boots,
pack up his tools,
check the oil and water
in his big fancy computerised car,
stroke the black and white doggies for the last time,
and drive off in to the golden sunlight.

Peter is not someone I would have imagined
to leave here so early.

Too kind and generous,
with most certainly a penchant
for cucumber sandwiches,
and just a little drop of red wine.

Bye bye dear Peter.



For a man who had a big heart, I hope the sea is warm and you swim peacefully and freely now.  You taught me so much in the brief time I knew you, and now so much in discovering your passing.  It was a privilege to have met you.  My thoughts are with your beloved family and friends who live on.  Thank you Jonathon. Jonathon Joyce, 1971-2013,

Verdigris Door

A verdigris door –
the rain finds its way through the painted surface,
revealing the wooden frame.

The detail of the panelling
suggests carpentry
of another time.

Wood touched,

The door stands on its hinges,
closed tight with weathered,
blustery pose.

The interior of the door
is currently unavailable;
like a lift out-of-order.

Its closedness says it all;
a silent turquoise soliloquy.
A psychedelia of reality,
presence to its contrary.

The air jaundiced with memory,
the door remains complete in its
absurd normality.

The more present the door appears,
the less the door isn’t there.

Leaves surround the door’s step;
paper-like, golden,
ochre, brown sugar shades.

Watching the doorway in search of a figure
in the literal;
but the literal is figurative.

Eyes are closed in
unmediated immersion.

The verdigris door
is a verdigris door.