Philosopher on Tap » poetry

a moment in time

tref — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 16:50:35 +0000

Greying sky and temperature drop. Shop girl moves pavement display inside. Few pedestrians circulate though two cyclists skid to halt by bookies. Man carries three bags for life. I feel draught and adjust shirt under coat. Baby cries outside post office. Hands in pocket dirty road home city needs a clean. Garage sells all coal. Soups stock’s out in supermarket. A nation anticipates snow.

5 boys

tref — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 11:50:51 +0000

five boys, two phones

three watch, two play

three gifts, for birthdays

six parents, no choice

crowded café

tref — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 11:32:04 +0000

crowded café, quiet murmur
newspapers, smartphones, bacon sandwiches
outside, bright Saturday morning
sun competes with sharp frost,
most customers sit alone
TV switches on, intrudes
nobody watches, except I watch people
and pictures on wall
murmur volume grows
competing with ignorant TV
noisy advertisments
music switches on kitchen
in preference

I notice lights, wonder if dark without
11 am in February

Trip to the dentist

tref — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 10:28:36 +0000

you can go straight in
no waiting, no time to think
perfunctory chat, the chair back sinks
hand over control
smells, glare, open mouth, noises
occasional aah – not much of a conversation
plastic sucks metal prods
several injections stab pain
numbing silence
whirring drill might be pneumatic
gag
hold on tight
large spectacles see spit fountain
filling, squeak and scrape
clamp those teeth, up and down, a few times
looks good
rinse and spit out the bits
quick clean and quick payment
departure.
the trip to the dentist,
never a great experience.

The train of infinity

tref — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 12:43:34 +0000

endless hypnotic wait for the passing
in cold trance of a train
of infinite length, flatbed truck follows
flatbed truck after flatbed truck
lengthening a crossing queue
of, eventually, growing irritation as
the train never seems to end.

Dark Saturday afternoon on Tritton Road

tref — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 12:12:51 +0000

It’s January and everywhere is dark and wet and miserable.
The Lincoln slate sky covers a time of drabness day,
Flat blue-red-brick- beige-grey-dark in the paint-damp-run drizzle,
Orange branding tries vainly to B&Q brighten the desperate place,
Over the neon road, lights just make it though the gloom:
SCS, Pets at Home, Starbucks, Staples, Comet, PC World, Currys
Countrywide conformity reflected in dark and miserable grey.

The end of a cold winter’s afternoon, take two – Chambers Farm Woods, Sunday 15th January

tref — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 20:16:11 +0000

A walk in the woods
Lit by winters candle
Subtle colours
Show the frozen way

A breath of purpose
Clouds the trail before us
Hasten home
As night descends on day

The end of a cold winter’s afternoon

tref — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 18:20:49 +0000

The half frosted field
And bright twilight
Of the cold winter afternoon
Shadows lengthen
Invisibility cloaks

Reflections from the couch

tref — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 21:19:03 +0000

Isolated as I am, from the nightly hypnotic lure of the television, I lie back and from the cosy stretched out comfort of the fireside my own narcotic takes hold.

Self administered stupor. The fire flares occasionally as new wood is overcome. It mesmerises but serves not to distract, adding to the air of relaxation, sweeping clean the floors of the imagination and setting fertile the stage of the unencumbered mind.

Words are few; thoughts random and surprised. Twist and shape and set free, sometime seen off into open fields where winds lift and scatter. Distant echoes.

My Uncle Tref

pink — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 11:44:31 +0000

My uncle likes rugby,
He likes to cheer them on,
Especially when they’re wearing red
And from the land of song.
He’s lately played around the world
In parliamentary strip,
The matches, dinners, beers and laughs
Were the highlights of his trip.

He also likes to surf,
He can stand up all the way,
So if he’s feeling lucky,
He can surf along the bay.
And while he’s taking on the waves
Tref’s trusty jeep stands by
To carry all the clobber back
To base camp where it’s dry.

Bacon, eggs, fried bread, tomatos
All laid out on a plate,
You just can’t beat it, uncle Tref loves it
Washed down with milk by the crate.
After breakfast and a stretch of hte legs
It’s time to sit and digest,
The hammock beckons temptingly
The snores….. they tell the rest.

Music is a hobby,
He can play all sorts of tunes,
From Mozart to rock and roll,
He’s even tried the spoons
It started on a windswept hill,
Guitar and amp in hand,
His dream back then was to be
In a world wide famous band.

But as we’ve rumbled through the years
His audience has changed,
Friends and family lend their ears and
In the Morning Star he’s famed.
Hungarian concert pianists play
‘longsides the Davies crowd,
Tref’s winning style and welcoming way
Cheers people quiet and loud.