Suitcases of Time

Dull ensemble, clouds andante
Loquacious seagulls,
Unshelled sun tightropes
Closed high windows.

Eva’s pomade breached the Promenade
Her breeze sterilised Sydney’s reading,
Grey-suited gentlemen tore
The heat with handkerchiefs.

Small child’s legs wrestled a donkey
Her fall was a shattering sleet of stone,
On edge of pier, pebble fleets
Named the sea a stifled silence.

The breakers broke ancient waters,
A poet was birthed on lips of a first kiss,
Photograph shy, marital bed negatives
Exposed dark further into the light.

Tea dance shuffle, flat footed,
Eva's arms bare to anticipation,
Two empty chairs beckon
A third to come closer.

Was there enough womb room
For verses crucifying the human condition
Or - to hive a Twenty First Century buzz -
The racism, misogyny and undiluted snobbery?

From Coventry Cathedral to Hull library
Lovers, less deceived, escaped him.
When she cycled past feared making
Spectacle of himself and never spoke.

Anaesthetised for final time on drear day
The hermit’s love for hot jazz turned blue(s).
A twenty-one typewriter salute, ribbon draped
Around iron bridges, cold churches and starless skies.  

England made him
That much is certain.
For him always,
Home was always so sad.