The Eaghams Weekly: Poems: Putting The Words Together


Putting The Words Together

On my own I have been putting the words together
I been meaning to show you what I can do, what’s new
Does it take longer than we first think when we go
Along a course of action I’ve learned what I know
Trying to piece it all together to find my way in life
And I hope you find your way here, like a passenger
On the train and train conductor communication travels
My stop fast approaches the rhythms are jazz drums
Good to see you time for me to catch another train
Another song waits in construction of lines we plan.


There are poems that I write that revive my interest
When I’ve read enough from my books, when the air is full
Of my heart, conjured imagination, the impact
Of full books of full story outside the pub the drinks
Take away the spirits of some though the dreams appear
When you’re not in the mood so I turn to the page now
For all the times I’ve not had a clue, this is how it’s told.

Music Sleeve

I’ve wanted to write and wear the culture
I’ve reaped and sown fine seam, casual and loose
Where the apartment blocks of the past
Lack definition I’d say
Although like building bricks
I read read more than just cover to cover
I build the stores of my foundation
Reading the paragraphs under
The lamplight, for ears around
The corner of the book I recall
You look at the record sleeves
Of your fashion statements
That were true to the person.


Wine-tint glasses were turned
Away to read more closely
And to write of what
Springs to mind, a fountain
The refreshment from the
Banks of memory to rejuvenate
To get back to some of our flow
Away from the incongruence.

Renaissance Man Part II

Back to the drawing board
Brushing up against the past
The painter reflects on the scenes
He made his peace with old friends
And turns to the Old Masters.
Conceived in his watchful calm
Never turning his back from
The canvas though his back
Was a picture of the years
That rested squarely on his shoulders
Congruent with the town square
In which he lived and breathed life
Into his paintings the clouds and sky
From within, a real air to it, and city,
And landscape and all his canvas
Became a painted mirror watercolour.