HOME THOUGHTS FROM ESSEX
''For all crop watchers, past and present (With apologies to Robert Browning)

Oh, to be in Wiltshire
Now that summer's there
And a farmer on his tractor
Sees some morning unaware
The tender sheaths of barley
Laid in circles on the ground
And of signs of human contact
Not a single trace is found.

Oh, to be in Wiltshire
When the watch of night is done
And to gaze on fields of wonder
Turning golden in the sun
To walk along the Ridgeway
Or to stand on Windmill Hill,
To climb the mound at Silbury
And walk the lanes at will.

Oh, to be in Wiltshire
In the early morning light
To search the fields for new shapes
That happened over night.
I imagine all the pictograms
Appearing in East Field,
And I ponder on what wonders
This coming year will yield.
`
Oh, to be in Wiltshire
And to sit on Adam's grave
And to wish I'd never come across
The names of Doug and Dave;
But still there's whispered magic
In the Kennet's rippling sigh
And just to think of Avebury
Can still make my spirit fly.

EXORCISM

Your boot heels hit the ground with a sound like the wind
As it whispers through the barley on a golden summer’s day;
There’s a white mist that surrounds us as it splinters with the passion
Of a sudden beam of sunlight that will carry you away.

Drifting through the days we soar, like two birds flying high,
Sighing through the nights into the light of each new dawn,
We’ve caused the course of history to alter to our will
As we move towards a destiny mapped out when we were born.

Filigree and shadow slice the sheets upon our bed
Into sharp divided segments made of memories and dreams
Until morning moves across the day and pulls you further from me
And the conversation dangles, so that nothing’s as it seems.

Shadows wash across the gloom of autumn afternoons;
And I know that you are fading, as I knew you’d be the one;
The blackness of your shadow bleaches to a silver grey
And the last I ever see of you is black boots in the sun.