Ode to John Coltrane

A rich warm August night,
round tables on the lawn,
low witty discerning chatter,
strong French cigarette smoke,
candle light, the stars,
evening dress, champagne.
Fairy lights in the trees reflected in the river,
no breeze, not a flicker of the candle flame.
Laughter
And behind it all, in a low, artistic rhythm,
are heard the strains of
John Coltrane.

Sunglasses

In an attempt to escape reality
I put on the sunglasses,
Because my eyes were dazzled by life.
I grew used to their comforting dimness
And it was only when, many years later,
I remembered I was wearing them,
And found the courage to take them off,
That I realised what I had missed.

Aged fifteen

Venice

It is places like Venice that prove a source of inspiration to people. There is nowhere like it in the world.

I would like, one day, to spend two weeks wallowing in Venice, on my own. That way I could spend timeless hours savouring each church, each back alley. I could sit in some shady cafe by the Grand Canal and write letters to people, or read, or write poetry. I could go to bed early or stay up all night, wandering along the streets and canal ways of Venice. I could sit in some shady corner and watch the tourists flow past me, day after day.

I would like to leisurely discover the history of Venice, not just the physical history but the history of the Art and the places where poets stood. I want to stand on the Bridge of Sighs just before dawn and discover for myself the essence of the name. I would like to be at leisure not to have to think, but just to exist, at peace with myself and the rest of the world.

Aged seventeen