~

it’s a peculiar routine

day in, day out 

each and every day, same time

at every corner or junction

he pauses as if looking

for danger, or to consider 

a crucial decision, or

a choice he needs to make

Beatrix, our granddaughter 

eight years-old, 

somewhat concerned, 

once asked him if he was lost 

as he stared up and down the road,

he looked somewhat perplexed 

at her enquiry, remaining mute

henceforth she labelled him 

Lost Man!

an old Asian gentleman, 

I mean really very old

impeccably over-dressed  

always the same attire 

summer or winter, 

hats might change seasonally

carries a bamboo cane

never speaks when greeted

regular as clockwork

11.35, here he comes!

*

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23

as eleven-year olds we cycled

tear-arsing along, head down 

arse up for six miles 

the A6 far less perilous then,

we’d throw our bikes in the nettles 

at the bottom-end near the lake

and creep in stealthily through 

a hidden gap in the hedge,

a bottle of squash, a sandwich 

and a biscuit, the day’s victuals 

and clandestine free entry of course,

the amusements, were much better 

there than in our local park

sporting bigger slides, cooler roundabouts

taller swings, a perfect playground

where we could stay free all day,

half a century has slipped by and 

we’re doing it again minus bikes

no longer adventurous little boys, 

now a self-titled bunch of old chums

the Old Grey Walkers, 

five-hundred years-worth of mischief

on a voyage of re-discovery,

rekindling old school friendships, 

revisiting old haunts to warm old hearts, 

a veritable “Cardiac Camino’, 

most of which are already well-medicated,

Mike bravely leading the way

with his new pacemaker, 

the rest of us stopping inquisitively 

to point out old familiar sights 

and surreptitiously catch our breath

*

(Wicksteed Park revisited)

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23

~

pearly brittle early winter light

a lone red kite wheels high 

an elegant drone 

scanning for carrion

in pastel clean air,

the moon, late to bed

is keeping watch, reclining 

ungainly on its back

like a pallid broken seesaw,

frosted roof tiles glare

silver-shine grey above the

schoolchildren who slide and tap-dance 

stamping on frozen puddles

that fracture, splintering

with dull bone-jarring cracks,

nearby, grandparents chaperoning 

their errant charges 

comically totter like penguins

in fear of a fall

*

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23

~

a grim day, 

all shades brown

the sky copper dull,

our stream in spate

colour of milked tea, sepia 

monochrome dour

an old heron, 

one of three territorially spaced

still, socially distanced, 

stands grumbling on black

flat matted rushes, bedraggled 

his wispy Fu-Manchu beard

droopily stirring the tea,

it is nose-stinging bitter but

we pretend brave

hop-scotching path puddles

that were inundated yesterday,

trolling over the precarious bridge 

whose planks wheeze like

Long John Silver,

I see the flash

you sadly not,

two seconds and gone,

morning’s only colour

it’s must be two years 

at least since you 

were the lucky one

I remember it still

*

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23

~

feeling chilled, relaxed, 

kicking back

(a horrible expression)

a glass of red

a new life in the country, 

a new start

my guard is down, I’m easy meat

perhaps a garden makeover

a stretch, a yawn, 

life is good,

then the broken emaciated donkey 

with crooked calloused hooves 

burdened with huge stones 

struggles across the screen,

now an undernourished 

African child with flies 

infesting his eyes, 

his sister drinks filthy water

she fetched from three miles away

and like a jack-in-the-box 

my mood shifts, kick-arsed from

Summer Holiday to Hammer Horror

in a two-minute, 

white-knuckle guilt trip,

following that cloudburst

sunshine returns

take a cruise, 

perhaps a new hearing-aid

or some chap helping me

withdraw equity from my home

help my children out in these

straightened times

there’s certainly a lot of things

for me to think about.

*

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23

~

you selected paper boats 

and untried Icarus wings

for a way to live your life,

I wring my hands but marvel

at the milestones you pass,

as my vigour wanes, cautiously

I make ready to pass on the life-flame 

that lit my path,

warmed my hearth,

 that chased away dark silhouettes 

and unwelcome shadows

all the while I worry

is your paper strong 

and will the sunshine

be too hot tomorrow?

*

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23

~

is holding one’s breath

when listening for something

typical practice

*

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23

Inspired by ‘On the nature of daylight’

by Max Richter

~

earth yawns into morning

night air thins to nought

an imperceptible stirring, 

no movement more a sense

of changing shape and form

to greet emerging light,

colours blossom, hues fill out

blushing with fresh warmth

conjuring the new day’s 

complexion to settle

to declare itself,

its favoured humour rebalanced

before we rise

*

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23

an undefinable sound

untuned radio, white noise

dumbing tinnitus in the darkness,

the near silent mechanism 

of beleaguered thought

complex but simple, as

delicate as catching a bubble

ideas exist for merely a second

then vanish fleetingly, buried

within the amnesia of dreams,

*

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23

I left home at eighteen never to return, 
nothing amiss, it was just time to go,
all the reasons were there
freedom work love money,
looking back I realise that 
even though no words were spoken, 
or advice given, nor requested,
my parents must have had the opinion 
that I knew it all, 
although I never claimed to,
it was 1970
I was leaving for a world
in which they had never lived
a brave new alien world,
a place with its own language
where without knowing, without
fault on their part, they had
become estranged, subconsciously
without remorse without harm,
some fifty years later
my own children having set sail
without me saying a word
I have become a mute mourner
benignly standing watch 
as their own, my grandchildren 
search for wood and nails
to build their boats

*

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23