Friday, 5 October 2018


I have been doing some travelling recently. I visited Porto and I sat in a square and wrote this poem.


Crossed cranes over the cash and carry
- a dull red building to the right hand side
of the equally unimpressive municipal office,
with five trees in front of it and a kiosk.
The wide selection of magazines flap in the breeze.
This square is a space for passing through,
not a place to stop as I have done.
I am sat at a table with a beer
watching other people’s lives unfold,
it’s just that type of day.
Gaia is the area across the city from the old town. 
As I was saying last post it is a useful exercise to sit somewhere quietly and write what you see.
This next poem wrote itself.

the day before we sold the family home
me and my sister
walked through each room one final time
in the name of thoroughness
I stepped into the loft
and found a slice of the 1970’s
packed away in boxes

we walked back to her house
arms full of more than memories

Thinking of the 1970s here's John Martyn with I Couldn't Love You More.
Until next time.

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