When the pen takes control.

Croissants and coffee

a continental combination

sustaining body and senses

at the start of the day

I am looking over the Nile

with Joseph standing at my side

the first of ten he would say to me

in order that we will be free

consider now this whole land cursed

the last will seem by far the worst

A grubby, knotted rag covers his eyes. Bare-chested, revealing grubby but muscular, tanned flesh streaked with blood. Hands tied, he stumbles, only kept upright by the two uniformed, burly, stone-faced escorts at each side. The slow, regular beat of the drum measures each solemn step as they slowly progress towards the upturned, salt-bleached grating.

now is the time to sow

sweet peas

to ensure they grow

As lights across the harbour shine

the silent cranes their labour done

await the early morning tide

to bow before the rising sun

then raise each load up to the sky

barrel, bale or even bundle

to trade across the world destined

each adventure not yet begun

Grazing peacefully in the field

we see a most bucolic scene

mothers and their newborn calves

rough pink tongues pulling at the grass

contented lowing gently drones like bees

sounds carried on the summer breeze

as stomachs fill turning into milk

to whiten cups of steaming tea

or fermenting into local cheese

Tall masts illuminated by the light of the moon

The schooner rides at anchor across the lagoon

Sails carefully furled, lashed up, stowed away

Lamps hanging from timbers all gently sway

On deck the bosun completes his night rounds

Reports to the captain that all’s safe and sound.

I used to sit upon this bench,

my arm around a comely wench

amidst all my jokes and laughter

I never got what I was after

but I suppose I didn’t even know

what I’d have done if yes turned to no

but in the face of such persistence

surprisingly we would leave still friends

no hard feelings on either side

nothing lost except my pride