EAST OF SCARBOROUGH

Time to go under swollen nor-west sky
but without the wind to push me
as I depart under the pungent
scent of Valeriam, geranium and thyme.

Nagging at me the sullen slighted sea
breasts the bar at right angles,
so I dream of my open window
letting the surfs monotone
into my room on full moon beam.

Then I'm woken and drawn to those
flat lines of the morning east of Scarborough,
before the sun ups to blaze a path
to my bed along which spirits and dreams
come and go.

Now I want to be washed outaway
by the easterly rain to run
in rivulets then torrents down drains
paths and dranonic steps to the sea.

But the rain doesn't come
And I am trapped by the risen sun.

QUICKLY FOR FAR TOO LONG

Yes it seemed that everything went too quickly
for far too long,
by then lips were hard swollen
no permission given
no touch was wrong.

Till the intolerable
slowness of bending backs
and sickle thighs
crept up to plunder your mouth
squeezing out your eyes ...
now carried in my pocket.

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