Seidel

Seidel

like paracetamol passed its best

you’re not helping

I look to you

for a pinch of filth

and fanciful suppleness

But this day

under a cold quilt

of clouds

when conversations on the air

carry like lost children

off the street

through my window

and the wind

whips saline tears

off the ageing face

of the English Channel

you bring nothing

but confusion

and the foreshadowing

of more rotten Brighton weather  

Monet's Sea

The sea’s a Monet

today.

The slight chop

pieces away into

the idea of a

horizon;

this is where I set

my gaze,

beyond borders

or edges.

I’ve never been

to sea

but can imagine

the secret that

voyagers to this

point must hold:

that they come apart

here,

as the painter's brush

intends they should,

undress and lose shape;

run like colours

into the notion

of another’s arms,

as floor gives way

to bed,

and lips to thigh.

Then back to the

photograph

of my sandaled feet on

this pebbled beach.

I won’t set sail today.

Wait for the Wind

Wait for the wind

in an open space

look listen feel

spread your arms

splay your fingers

run run

catch it

and take off

over what you’ve

done or haven’t

over broken promises

and bracken fields where

you’ve been led awry

or lost your plot

and on passed the cusp

where baked ice and the scab of sin

meet flowing promise

and the unpredictable green

creep of confederate jasmine

and here we can

gingerly touch down

debts ignored

dark arable soil to

plant our feet in

and virgin space to scatter

memories and scars

here they won’t

know us yet

we can act on the new earth

and sow fresh character

for our friends

the worms

The Stew

Over the infancy

of what I hope

will be a piquant stew

I dwell on the

shape of things

how meekly

those who have

nothing to want

surrender

and how those who

have nothing to fear

feign empathy

almost convincingly

HomellS Pepil cAn Stay Here

my neighbour’s

seven year old

blu tacked this

up in their window

It’s been there for

the best part

of a year

seeing off window clean

after window clean

from the inside

A suburban gesture

made in the best

of faith by the

best of people

a child

I fetch bay

from the tree in my garden 

as I think about

the complacency

and complicity

of a middle class

who can conveniently

just about bear their

guilt

and now look...

Somewhere

between Trump

Global Warming

and Brexit

I’ve forgotten the splash

of red wine

By Ruodprecht - Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25490318

Bracken Ward Hero

My father has returned

to shore,

from asea behind his eyes.

He lays his poems

out, the ones he found,

like fish of different size.

I read them then,

and they make me weep,

because they show

how far he’s been.

They’ll sustain us though,

and to him that’s all;

my old man rests...

serene.