To Bridge the Afternoon

I missed the train…..

my timetable out of date

the guts of two hours to wait

the café beckons

do I go or do I stay?

tick, tick

the seconds click

too much time to think

a cappuccino and

a slice of poetry

to bridge the severed afternoon

Thatcher Doran

Or Simply Sit…..

I could sit here
Forget the afternoon
Crunch gravel under
Foot
Listen to the waterfall
Or sit…
Nod farewell to the forced
Elongated lunch hour
Smile at youth taking
A shortcut
Through the trees
Or sit…
Ignore Time
Avoid its look
Its constant stare
Close the eyes
And breathe in that warm
Weighless air
Or simply sit…..

image

Thatcher Doran

Rochester’s Debt

Tentacles of life

arms of love

hands of pleasure

grow like trees

through the early years

with singular attitude

while unbeknown

the others…..

those blessed and

profaned

in cameo or in shadow

will count the cost

then ask,

“is there not a debt to pleasure too”?

 

Thatcher Doran

About a Day in April

What words best describe

a path through life

the face behind the mask

words that will not dry

too dry…..

but lie gentle on the page

like a star at night

a picture painted

to tell a story…fragments

just fragments

yet a life Time will erase…..

 

Thatcher Doran

 

 

In the Cradle of an Evening

Returning by train

only one stop in-between

at the end of a pleasant

april day

holding a gentle breeze

in the cradle of an evening

a mood weaving a

bewitching spell

brewing a consciousness

larger than the singularity

of a tired reality

as in cog and wheel

a consciousness without boundaries

pulsating

behind the membrane of Time

and the rhythm of the train

its muted scream…freedom

symbolic in the landscape

notwithstanding, the obvious

…..the paradox

A straight line travelling in a circle…..

 

Thatcher Doran

 

Vivid Yellow

Travelling…..

on the morning train

I could see the rape fields

that vivid yellow

….. back again

that brings the longing

the echo…..

of forever summers

clothes with brilliant

Colours

that weigh nothing on

the skin

Now…..

is the remaining days

of April

with bright blue skies

with cold chilly nights

a call for Summer…..

Thatcher Doran

A Day Kissed by Melancholy

Here…..

in the quietness

of the muted kitchen

an afternoon alone

isolated from the world

yet…..

knowing it still plays on

the charades of life

of colour and form

multitude of realities

Today…..

grey day wrapped in

dampness

sniggering through the glass

at least

the rain has ceased

the earth though…beaten

swollen in the ground

A day kissed by melancholy

Thatcher Doran

Days Ahead

Early days of April

beware the residues of

March

winds that rip and tear

the delicate fabric of life

the promise of spring and

Rebirth

bright evenings

stretching…beyond those

ambiguous horizons

Dreams of days ahead

Joy expressed…..

in eyes

tired of winter nights

Thatcher Doran

Words Chosen (Seamus Heaney)

He chose carefully

Words

such as leave and twig

Ditch and stream

Manmade shovel and

Spade

Hands that laboured

…..worked

echoed their rhythm and

Rhyme

through time and space

Gleaned from landscape and

Place

yet tainted with

Ambiguous memory

Cantered with subtle pace

Stained black on white

left to sit

as ink on paper

like crumbs on table

Remnants of a life…..

Thatcher Doran