Budock Vean Repose

Curves of wet stones and sediment
casually meander towards the space
where my feet look downwards,

they are contemplating (as they gaze)
about detatching themselves,
they long to be as free as the fish,

would they swim across the river,
tied to no master but an old
blue boat with wooden slats?

Each slat a tired calf muscle,
not as worn out as the feet though
who dream of bobbing in tandem,

they will steer a path along
the Helford Passage, no longer taking
the weight of travelling city roads,

demands are dissolved in the scenic frame
of forestry and froth, each toe bathing
in the ripples of Cornish sun

Yesterday I took a trip into Edinburgh with wifey-wifey, brother-in-law, and brother-in-law's partner... oh and my new hat 'Terry'. After ducking around raindrops and dodging leafleteers, we made our way to Bar Bados (Cowgate) to watch the magnificent Robert Garnham perform In The Glare Of The Neon Yak. I've had the privilege to share a stage with Robert several times but this was a night to just sit back and enjoy! If you haven't seen Robert before then you've missed a treat. Known as the Professor of Whimsy, he always delivers a hilarious set of poems (often surreal!) using a variety of props. His energy is always impressive. This new show however is something I've not seen before, it was passionate, sad, touching,  philosophical, and carefully glued with the usual Garnham funnies. I'm still processing some of the poems, working out the depth that was so carefully tucked behind the couplets. If you're around in Edinburgh this week and fancy seeing some stellar spoken word then head over and check out Robert's show.