Alan Sandham

I stand before you
Clean and sober,

No doubt some of you already wishing
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I've got the viral blues,
Empty supermarket,
Panic-buying,
Out of the fire into pan-frying,
...

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When I attempt some home repair
I find Incompetence lives there.

He skulks and sulks to my despair,
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Here's the time for us to sever,
May be for now, may be forever,
Maybe a sad, slow, parting kiss,
Maybe a sibilant serpent hiss;
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If I watch a hawk hover,
As she hangs on her wings,
And I wonder at her stilled flight-
Do I distract myself with its meaning
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The other day I saw a crow
Swoop at a gull on a neighbour's bin,
Disputing salvage rights, I thought,
Although those rights are rather thin;
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When all that can be done's been done,
And all that can be said's been said,
And most of it is clearly gone,
But some of it's inside my head,
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See the rushing shining water,
See the flowing River Tees,
From the hills and farmlands yonder
All the way down to the sea;
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Even dogs can pine and moon and whine
And long for love,
Which, found, they'll howl it to the moon,
And also prove
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My every essay into life
May invite assay at the end,
Whoso' does that, stranger, friend, or wife,
I hope will hesitate, and not press 'send'.
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I think of all these roaming cats,
Some robed in grey, some sporting spats,
I wonder at their nightly prowls,
Do they meet and challenge, fight, or dodge the owls?
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If music be the food of love give me access to it!
Let saxophones full-throated moan,
Let violins sweetly drone,
Let the piano player pound out that tune,
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I struggle up Meadfoot Sea Lane,
Against the wind and in slight rain,
A long hill, but there's the game,
For, some say, in pain there's gain.
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Raucous seagulls scream and wheel
Over the new-turned field,
Dip and plunge and soar and reel,
Land and stand and jump and whomp,
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I am an ageing rocker
And my pony-tail is thin,
My generation rockchicks now count regret their only sin;
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Two odes were present in a yellowed book,
One, with its well-known parts,
The other, with more subtle arts
Seemed seductive to my unpractised eye,
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Think of me when I am gone and no longer mangling rhymes,
Think of me in your happy times,
Think of me when you down tools on your farms
And settle into your armchairs' arms,
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Contemplating Nature gives me pause,
One of the many things best done indoors:
A leafy tree moved by a gentle breeze,
Seen through glass when I'm at my ease.
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