The Poem
The poem was neatly printed in a legible hand
On a piece of plain white paper, before it was folded
First in half, then half again, the now creased paper
Was then crumpled tightly and pushed deeply into a crevice
In the gate post where the lane meets the road
The writer paused before turning finally to set out along the road
The paper was protected by the crevice, where it had been
Inserted, rain did not penetrate so deeply to dampen
Either the paper or the ink, the wind could not blow
It, one way or another, so it remained, a poem written
By one person for a possible future person to discover
But the lane remained untrodden, there was little traffic on the road
Aspects of weathering and aging occurred, the paper
Lost its white brightness and over time, yellowed
The ink lost its depth of blue and faded a shade of sepia
Until one day in late autumn lovers hand in hand
Walking the road, turned into the lane and paused
The woman happy on this warm day asked if her lover
Would carve their initials into the gatepost as a reminder
Of the day they’d spent? As he quietly worked their initials
Into the soft wood, he noticed the paper in the crevice
On the weathered post, and, reaching with his fingers
He withdrew and carefully unfolded the paper, smoothing
Each crease, and then with great care, amounting almost to love
He raised the paper to the air. A gentle breeze blew
Softly on the papers’ surface and the poem written there
Like a butterfly, moth or small bird, lifted itself to the breeze
And flew away, now hesitant, now more strongly until
It was gone into the warm air,
dancing,
dancing,
dancing
Viewing the Stones
On our guided tour of Ephesus
Our Turkish guide told us that:
Under the market square, an underground
passage ran from the scriptorium
to the brothel, where the ladies of leisure
promised pleasure upon pleasure.
So imagine Roman Maryport:
‘Alauna Carvetiorum’ meaning
'beautiful, wonderful, splendid'.
Imagine that the librarian is Venus
she waits at the gate as the senior citizens
return their borrowed vellum.
Leaving their wives to shop and gossip
they turn into the portico
pausing in anticipation
of the pleasures in store.
These unsuspecting wives
turn to the serious business
of shopping, sharing the news
setting the world to rights
whilst beneath their sandalled feet
Their menfolk walk the short passage
to where awaiting them on scented
day beds, oiled breasts and thighs
glistening in the lamp light, Aphrodites
handmaids recline with deshabille elegance.
Whilst their wives are leisured, their menfolk
are pleasured, after a brief but delightful
interlude they meet their wives in the café,
smugly listen to the reports of bargains found,
of tough negotiations that put supper on the table.
But the men’s thoughts are of Venus
of the next time they will return the borrowed vellum
unread, as before, and walk the dark passageway
to the pleasures of the striptorium.
An extract from a centurions letter to his Tuscan girlfriend
………………………………………………………… the days pass
We keep watch along this bloody wall, eat, sleep, march
Battle, drink, get drunk, gamble away our pay and march again
Days become weeks, months, seasons pass too soon, and the years
Will pass, and we will have defended the empire. Who gives a toss
Whether we live or die? Somewhere back there in Tuscany
Under a warm sky you sleep in some boy’s arms, maybe your body
Is swelling now with child, maybe it’s mine, maybe
Not, but anyhow who will ever know? You’ll tell
Him it’s his. He’ll believe you. He’ll become a father
And I will never get to know my son. He will grow
Tall and strong, but don’t let him become a soldier
It’s no life and he might end up here. Out there
Britons out to kill him and here in the Barracks hoary
Old legionnaires after his ‘arse. Last night
We took a young soldier. Six of us, it took five of us
To hold him still. We took it in turns. By the end he was in tears
Bleeding, we left him crying himself to sleep
There were blood stains on his sheets and this morning
We were hungover. We’d got drunk. He was in the wrong place
That’s all there was to it. He’ll recover soon enough
Our passions were inflamed by the Goddess we call Venus
And the Greeks Aphrodite, either that or the air in this wild place …
Marching towards a place called Vericovicium, we came
To a magnificent high fell. The wall follows the edge of a high
Cliff dropping steeply away as far as the eye can see. The moor
Runs away to meet the sky and the winds constant buffeting
Tosses the sound of the legions’ marching ………………………
Googling the Venus Gate
Venus/Aphrodite, the hunter and the hunted
Adonis' lover and mother, her hearts’ desires
Falling fast into lust and love with son and father both
Come close to Venus lighthouse
Get out the (google) map and into
The lighthouse entrance, pass the guards
(don't read what they say on their shields)
Enter the lighthouse and go through
Into the Venus Pizza Parlor
2615 Santa Ana Street, South Gate, CA 90280
Jessies’ helpful review is on google too
‘great mom and pop spot, pizza is good
various selections in deli meats and subs
They deliver if you live close by
Bad part about it, only two tables to eat at
But I still like their pizza’
Thanks Jessie! and according
To Angus (who knows these things)
In Farringdon you can meet
The Venus Table Dancers
In person at London's premier
Fully nude table dance venue
Early birds take note, only £10 before 12pm
Up to sixty gorgeous dancers
From the nations of the World
Air conditioned waiter service, a bonus
Venus seeks the challenge of competition
Aphrodite affirms her beauty
Through the affection of her lovers
Never gives herself away, always demands the price
Due to the Absolute Goddess, fire-formed into a passionate
Embrace nurturing all, the lighthouse, the pizza joint
The lounge, without the slightest hint of hesitation
Google the Venus Gate and be left in no doubt
Well being
A dark night Falls the moon Casts a shadow On my soul
On this dark night Of the souls Patient waiting I tell the beads
They answer Clacking in my head Forcing me to weep As I fall to sleep
And in my dream Fall from a bridge Of sighs down To the River of Cliches
The Accordionist in the Square
Morning:
Early washing dries
Beneath a window
Above a dusty street
Daily bread
Freshly baked
Displayed in the local store
As the sun rises
The apartments
Open to the day
People set about
Their business greeting
Neighbours in the street
Cars are started
Seats adjusted
The drive to work begins
Dogs are walked
Their daily exercise
Free to run in the local park
They pause to interpret
Yesterday’s messages
Answering in kind
The trees glisten
With the morning dew
Drying in the warming sun
In the piazza
The accordion player
Plays a faintly recognisable tune
He smiles in greeting
Hoping for a tip
To pay for his morning caffé
The neighbourhood
Quickens with the passing
Of the hours and the morning sun
The Accordionist in the Square
Afternoon:
As the day passes
The pizzeria opens
For the lunchtime crowd
The trattoria
Fills with a gaggle
Of giggling girls ordering glasses of wine
Stores close
Shutters lowered
As the afternoon trade slackens
The cafes and bars
Fill with the exchange
Of idle gossip the flower sellers
Pass by offering
Roses for a pretty lady
A Euro or two for the wife or girlfriend or both
In the piazza
The accordion player
Plays the same recognisable tune
Smiles in greeting
Hoping for a tip
To pay for his lunchtime Foccacia
The scooters
Are parked in the tightest
Of places as the riders stop for lunch
The interior of the taxi –
Drivers favourite bar
Is cool as the barrista works flat out
Offering the coffee
For which he is known
Espresso, Americano, Caffè Macchiato
And above the piazza
The shutters close
As the old retire to their afternoon beds
The Accordionist in the Square
Evening:
Pasta cooks in the pot
The Ragu is warming
In readiness as footsteps sound on the stairs
The dogs become
Restless as the family eats
Knowing that it will soon be time
To check for messages
Again leave their mark
Again by the fountain and the trees
Soon it will be time
For the evening
Passeggiata as families walk round the square
Pausing maybe
Trying to name
That same vaguely recognisable tune
The accordion player
Plays. As they pass
He smiles in greeting hoping for a tip
Every day he plays
The same vaguely
Recognisable notes in a sequence
That resembles
A familiar tune
Similar to one his mother sang
When he was a child
It’s comfort for him
A warming memory as he sits in the square
And dreams
The dream of an old
Musician carefully pulling his blanket
Around his shoulders
And settling for the night
Before another day in the familiar square begins
Vespers
South into night Light fades The journey lengthens Strengthens Shadows on the land
Band of indigo Above azure folds Tolls the bell
Our dreams Seem to capture Progress
Less we travel Night prayer
Shared echoes Across the land
Moonrise
Twenty Text Messages
Text, she said
I’ll give you text
He smiled
She was as good as her word
Is this your ‘phone, Sir?
She queried
No she replied
I’ve had a text change
He had text on his mind
So he left a message
Text. text, text
She replied, try
Your options button
He wanted a long
term relationship
she insisted on
casual text
The problem
With, I think of you often
Is that it Rhymes
With soften
When it should rhyme
With hard
It started
In a relaxed kind of way
But soon it gathered
Momentum, gosh
She gulped, you’ve
Become a text maniac
Texting alone
No hands
Free to ‘phone
Skating on thin ice
Cracking the thin air
Words carved
On the ponds surface
Winter, text, spring
Autumn, summer, message
Text messages
On underpass walls
Heighten
Textual tensions
Times have changed
You can’t Text yourself
And expect a reply
He thanked her by text
She thanked him for text
She wondered what he might do next
But even she did not expect
Such a turn of events
Broken words
Empty screens
Spaces where the text
Should be
Special mention
Should be made
Of the textual tension
In the games they played
The pre text was poor
His options soft
He had to withdraw
Textual criticism
From above
Textual satisfaction
From below
Switching off
Her phone she
Felt complete
Textually satisfied
The text was written
On her body
She kept abreast
Of amendments
Greeted lovers
With thighs
The poem was neatly printed in a legible hand
On a piece of plain white paper, before it was folded
First in half, then half again, the now creased paper
Was then crumpled tightly and pushed deeply into a crevice
In the gate post where the lane meets the road
The writer paused before turning finally to set out along the road
The paper was protected by the crevice, where it had been
Inserted, rain did not penetrate so deeply to dampen
Either the paper or the ink, the wind could not blow
It, one way or another, so it remained, a poem written
By one person for a possible future person to discover
But the lane remained untrodden, there was little traffic on the road
Aspects of weathering and aging occurred, the paper
Lost its white brightness and over time, yellowed
The ink lost its depth of blue and faded a shade of sepia
Until one day in late autumn lovers hand in hand
Walking the road, turned into the lane and paused
The woman happy on this warm day asked if her lover
Would carve their initials into the gatepost as a reminder
Of the day they’d spent? As he quietly worked their initials
Into the soft wood, he noticed the paper in the crevice
On the weathered post, and, reaching with his fingers
He withdrew and carefully unfolded the paper, smoothing
Each crease, and then with great care, amounting almost to love
He raised the paper to the air. A gentle breeze blew
Softly on the papers’ surface and the poem written there
Like a butterfly, moth or small bird, lifted itself to the breeze
And flew away, now hesitant, now more strongly until
It was gone into the warm air,
dancing,
dancing,
dancing
Viewing the Stones
On our guided tour of Ephesus
Our Turkish guide told us that:
Under the market square, an underground
passage ran from the scriptorium
to the brothel, where the ladies of leisure
promised pleasure upon pleasure.
So imagine Roman Maryport:
‘Alauna Carvetiorum’ meaning
'beautiful, wonderful, splendid'.
Imagine that the librarian is Venus
she waits at the gate as the senior citizens
return their borrowed vellum.
Leaving their wives to shop and gossip
they turn into the portico
pausing in anticipation
of the pleasures in store.
These unsuspecting wives
turn to the serious business
of shopping, sharing the news
setting the world to rights
whilst beneath their sandalled feet
Their menfolk walk the short passage
to where awaiting them on scented
day beds, oiled breasts and thighs
glistening in the lamp light, Aphrodites
handmaids recline with deshabille elegance.
Whilst their wives are leisured, their menfolk
are pleasured, after a brief but delightful
interlude they meet their wives in the café,
smugly listen to the reports of bargains found,
of tough negotiations that put supper on the table.
But the men’s thoughts are of Venus
of the next time they will return the borrowed vellum
unread, as before, and walk the dark passageway
to the pleasures of the striptorium.
An extract from a centurions letter to his Tuscan girlfriend
………………………………………………………… the days pass
We keep watch along this bloody wall, eat, sleep, march
Battle, drink, get drunk, gamble away our pay and march again
Days become weeks, months, seasons pass too soon, and the years
Will pass, and we will have defended the empire. Who gives a toss
Whether we live or die? Somewhere back there in Tuscany
Under a warm sky you sleep in some boy’s arms, maybe your body
Is swelling now with child, maybe it’s mine, maybe
Not, but anyhow who will ever know? You’ll tell
Him it’s his. He’ll believe you. He’ll become a father
And I will never get to know my son. He will grow
Tall and strong, but don’t let him become a soldier
It’s no life and he might end up here. Out there
Britons out to kill him and here in the Barracks hoary
Old legionnaires after his ‘arse. Last night
We took a young soldier. Six of us, it took five of us
To hold him still. We took it in turns. By the end he was in tears
Bleeding, we left him crying himself to sleep
There were blood stains on his sheets and this morning
We were hungover. We’d got drunk. He was in the wrong place
That’s all there was to it. He’ll recover soon enough
Our passions were inflamed by the Goddess we call Venus
And the Greeks Aphrodite, either that or the air in this wild place …
Marching towards a place called Vericovicium, we came
To a magnificent high fell. The wall follows the edge of a high
Cliff dropping steeply away as far as the eye can see. The moor
Runs away to meet the sky and the winds constant buffeting
Tosses the sound of the legions’ marching ………………………
Googling the Venus Gate
Venus/Aphrodite, the hunter and the hunted
Adonis' lover and mother, her hearts’ desires
Falling fast into lust and love with son and father both
Come close to Venus lighthouse
Get out the (google) map and into
The lighthouse entrance, pass the guards
(don't read what they say on their shields)
Enter the lighthouse and go through
Into the Venus Pizza Parlor
2615 Santa Ana Street, South Gate, CA 90280
Jessies’ helpful review is on google too
‘great mom and pop spot, pizza is good
various selections in deli meats and subs
They deliver if you live close by
Bad part about it, only two tables to eat at
But I still like their pizza’
Thanks Jessie! and according
To Angus (who knows these things)
In Farringdon you can meet
The Venus Table Dancers
In person at London's premier
Fully nude table dance venue
Early birds take note, only £10 before 12pm
Up to sixty gorgeous dancers
From the nations of the World
Air conditioned waiter service, a bonus
Venus seeks the challenge of competition
Aphrodite affirms her beauty
Through the affection of her lovers
Never gives herself away, always demands the price
Due to the Absolute Goddess, fire-formed into a passionate
Embrace nurturing all, the lighthouse, the pizza joint
The lounge, without the slightest hint of hesitation
Google the Venus Gate and be left in no doubt
Well being
A dark night Falls the moon Casts a shadow On my soul
On this dark night Of the souls Patient waiting I tell the beads
They answer Clacking in my head Forcing me to weep As I fall to sleep
And in my dream Fall from a bridge Of sighs down To the River of Cliches
The Accordionist in the Square
Morning:
Early washing dries
Beneath a window
Above a dusty street
Daily bread
Freshly baked
Displayed in the local store
As the sun rises
The apartments
Open to the day
People set about
Their business greeting
Neighbours in the street
Cars are started
Seats adjusted
The drive to work begins
Dogs are walked
Their daily exercise
Free to run in the local park
They pause to interpret
Yesterday’s messages
Answering in kind
The trees glisten
With the morning dew
Drying in the warming sun
In the piazza
The accordion player
Plays a faintly recognisable tune
He smiles in greeting
Hoping for a tip
To pay for his morning caffé
The neighbourhood
Quickens with the passing
Of the hours and the morning sun
The Accordionist in the Square
Afternoon:
As the day passes
The pizzeria opens
For the lunchtime crowd
The trattoria
Fills with a gaggle
Of giggling girls ordering glasses of wine
Stores close
Shutters lowered
As the afternoon trade slackens
The cafes and bars
Fill with the exchange
Of idle gossip the flower sellers
Pass by offering
Roses for a pretty lady
A Euro or two for the wife or girlfriend or both
In the piazza
The accordion player
Plays the same recognisable tune
Smiles in greeting
Hoping for a tip
To pay for his lunchtime Foccacia
The scooters
Are parked in the tightest
Of places as the riders stop for lunch
The interior of the taxi –
Drivers favourite bar
Is cool as the barrista works flat out
Offering the coffee
For which he is known
Espresso, Americano, Caffè Macchiato
And above the piazza
The shutters close
As the old retire to their afternoon beds
The Accordionist in the Square
Evening:
Pasta cooks in the pot
The Ragu is warming
In readiness as footsteps sound on the stairs
The dogs become
Restless as the family eats
Knowing that it will soon be time
To check for messages
Again leave their mark
Again by the fountain and the trees
Soon it will be time
For the evening
Passeggiata as families walk round the square
Pausing maybe
Trying to name
That same vaguely recognisable tune
The accordion player
Plays. As they pass
He smiles in greeting hoping for a tip
Every day he plays
The same vaguely
Recognisable notes in a sequence
That resembles
A familiar tune
Similar to one his mother sang
When he was a child
It’s comfort for him
A warming memory as he sits in the square
And dreams
The dream of an old
Musician carefully pulling his blanket
Around his shoulders
And settling for the night
Before another day in the familiar square begins
Vespers
South into night Light fades The journey lengthens Strengthens Shadows on the land
Band of indigo Above azure folds Tolls the bell
Our dreams Seem to capture Progress
Less we travel Night prayer
Shared echoes Across the land
Moonrise
Twenty Text Messages
Text, she said
I’ll give you text
He smiled
She was as good as her word
Is this your ‘phone, Sir?
She queried
No she replied
I’ve had a text change
He had text on his mind
So he left a message
Text. text, text
She replied, try
Your options button
He wanted a long
term relationship
she insisted on
casual text
The problem
With, I think of you often
Is that it Rhymes
With soften
When it should rhyme
With hard
It started
In a relaxed kind of way
But soon it gathered
Momentum, gosh
She gulped, you’ve
Become a text maniac
Texting alone
No hands
Free to ‘phone
Skating on thin ice
Cracking the thin air
Words carved
On the ponds surface
Winter, text, spring
Autumn, summer, message
Text messages
On underpass walls
Heighten
Textual tensions
Times have changed
You can’t Text yourself
And expect a reply
He thanked her by text
She thanked him for text
She wondered what he might do next
But even she did not expect
Such a turn of events
Broken words
Empty screens
Spaces where the text
Should be
Special mention
Should be made
Of the textual tension
In the games they played
The pre text was poor
His options soft
He had to withdraw
Textual criticism
From above
Textual satisfaction
From below
Switching off
Her phone she
Felt complete
Textually satisfied
The text was written
On her body
She kept abreast
Of amendments
Greeted lovers
With thighs
