Just an Entrance to a Cave

Pass the orchard,
over the garden wall.
Crawl through the long grass.
Find the spot
where the rainbow ends.
But you won't find
a pot of gold.
No.
Just an entrance;
to a cave...


Capability Red   aprox' 1974

The Gap of Dunloe

The stranger we passed, musing to her friend
heading in a different direction.
Proclaimed; the world was comming to an end,
we had to prepare for an inspection.

Then she was describing fuchsia hedgerows,
thickets and names of forgotten flowers.
I'd met her before. Goodness only knows
when? or where? But in the early hours.

Overheard crimes of lovers lamented,
whispered promises the stars never told,
float and drift on mountain streams fermented,
that we will remember when we grow old.

Abandoned cottages, stray dogs, riders,
girls' and boys' voices that echo. Echo.
rays of sunshine aim arrows of midas.
Forever walking the Gap of Dunloe.


Capability Red         November 2017

Does This Deserve a Title?

Quarter to, quarter past,
how long's this gonna last?
Time's dragging, getting late,
bored stiff since half past eight.

No fun on your own,
waiting for the telephone.
Listen out; a knock on the door,
this place is nothing but a bore.

Back street, our yard,
on a pg tips card
I think I've said this before,
this town is nothing but a bore.


Capability Red                aprox  1973

One Night in Grosvenor Square

I tried hard to remember; things I never said,
clouded distant memories floating through my head.
Each step to the station. Is that walnut tree still there?
I'm not quite certain where I was.
One night in Grosvenor Square.

Was it but a memory? Or, was it just a dream?
Can a truly golden day be somewhere in between?
I felt the earth moving in her silver hair.
My soul stopped in the lost and found:
One night in Grosvenor Square.

Succumbing to emotion, I sat down on the ground.
I could still hear Carole singing through silence all around.
Each stage of life's journey, at turnpikes of despair.
An eagle took my photograph:
One night in Grosvenor Square.


Capability Red     2016

My Brexit Blues

Won't you lay your head on my writers block
As I contenplate this table top sale,
Where limbs of democracy, aged and frail
Hang frayed like the hem of her summer frock.
Britannia, she the proprietor
Of estuary accent, gabbling fools,
Watching frigates and gunships wave her rules
And drive a scribe towards the rioter.
Beyond such flag waving mutilation
Too many of us are still sleepwaliking,
Through a nightmare where she just keeps talking,
So: I'm back to beach hut preservation:
Where I'll gather my thoughts and cleanse my hands.
To greet refugees washed up on the sands.


Capability Red          July 2017

Did I know you in a former life?

Did I know you in a former life?
When you wore pigtails and I had spots.
Passing strangers catching glances.
On their way to who knows what.
A concourse in a busy station.
Just for a second. Wearing blue.
I never stopped. Just kept on walking.
Didn't turn to look...Did you?


Capability Red        June 2017

Rainy Day in June

Oh, rainy day in June.
Grey clouds.
Fierce winds.
Who sent you?
I look out of my window.
The fence needs mending.
Please, rainy day in June.
Smile.
I've got work to do.
The lawn needs mowing.
Seeds need sowing.
Please, rainy day in June.
Get on the phone to the sun.


Capability Red              1977