not sure when

the beach ceased being fun

there’d be fewer people here

body boards folks swimming

families with a picnic

les pompiers watching the beach

then the café came

the first surf school shack

& now

these lean brown stone face people

march along the sand

carrying boards long & short

wet suits in summer

identical rucksacks flip flops hair styles

letting us know

they are real surfers

serious to a man & woman

wearing wet suits when the sea

is 19 degrees

are you gonna be rich?

he asks with a smile

knowing I’m going

to be saying

NO

in the hierarchy of arts

glamour glitz world

the ripping off the athletes

poetry is a very low rung

ladies love the troubadour

men the screen femme fatale

the singer the songs

painters have followers

good light garrets to haunt the night

muses to amuse delight

but us

mere flingers of words

ideas on a line

open to interpretation

derision

fame is a rare beast

riches even more elusive

tho’ sometimes

these come after

we are dead

fear does that

these two guys

wanting to rough camp

be out & about

in the world

riding motorcycles

out in the wind

as soon as the familiar faded

tried to recreate home

couldn’t cope with strange

foods beer gas pumps

languages temperatures

& I tried to ease them

pushing them to drink the water

hydrate stay sensible

look after yourselves

do this right

they managed two nights

& ran away

back to the known

& you learn

you can’t tell people anything

especially

if they can’t listen

fear does that to people

seeking a safe port

everybody says

they love a good storm

when they

are safe & warm

love a great story

of love hate desire

late night blood horror

tidied up cosy not torn

enjoy the hearing of derring do

swashbuckling pirates

swords flailing to & fro’

when their ships

are safe in harbour

not out at sea

seeking a safe port

teds 100 dollar odes

I tried reading him

him being a mans man

in the poesy

& I tried

stumbling over the lines

he birthed over the page

great gallumping stones

dark hewn colours

black as the pit of night

& I looked for love

humour to gleam thru’

found that wanting

such a serious man

seems who took himself so

no moss no lichen here

but fortresses of the deep

never using one word

when ten ten dollar words

would do

ayuntamiento

the ayuntamiento

has cleared the streets

repaired the cobbles

put in asphalt over rock & sand

burro’s are rarely seen now

here in the pueblo

we never get to hear the rattle

of a pony or donkey cart

& that spot in the corner

of the ancient falling barn

that dog piss corner

where paquito used to stand

half hidden in moon shadow

looking up at polas’ window light

has been replaced

by a new apartment block

Pacqo & Pola have three kids

working the coast

we are modern now

have all the latest things

yet

yet

aw really?

she tried to cut in line getting grocery

& I sent her back pointing the way

now she sees me as an angry man

being easier to see passion

in another that way

especially this dark stranger

suposin’ just supposin’ I say

the anger you’re feeling

is yours n yours alone

passing off your projections

on a lost man on his own?

I see the sneer start to grow

suposin’ just supposin’ I say

I see in you a lost love

somebody stopped you

from being who you wanted to be

& you feel somethin’ here

reminds him of me?

I’m not that kind of guy

so if you will kindly

as I know you are a good person

I’ll just be passing on by

& I saw the look on her face

the beginning of aw really

maybe this guy gets me

but I’d passed by then

into the long shadows

nobody needing this dark preacher

off to find a better storm

eyes are better than cameras

I’ve lost those pictures of you

when you had love & lust

in yours

as you looked at me

but my eyes

my memories

hang on to such times

far better than pictures

stowed in drawers

stuck in picture books

& my eyes my memories

wipe out the pain

from your mouth

those things you did

so when I picture you

my eyes are better

than a camera

anytime

cut line

told us

right from the off

schooling had a cut line

we were bad boys

up to no good

as we stood wondering

wiping snot on our short pants

do they mean us?

& one of us since

has done jail

one is still inside

another fills his veins

full time

& one of us

got out quick as he could

the others who made the cut line

some went on to do good

while others found drunk

beat on their wives n kids

& I’m not saying

those teachers

made any of this happen

but when you run a cut line

right from the off

make it about rich & poor

when your time comes

I hope to make you

take it to the lord