Ivy

Things are changing, not just the light
The static is growing louder and Russia is growing closer
Here, down south, I sit and admire the sun that stains skin
I wonder about the size of spears and I wonder when I will travel
Where are the ships that will take me?
Should I follow the path to the harbour to wait
Or will someone come knocking when the time comes?
My door it is covered by fast growing ivy
My shoes are still brand new
I know the birds that come to my garden
And I spy on the neighbours as they do the same
Things are changing, yes
The horse paddocks are close, yet I no longer go there
I wonder what sort of men go there now
What sort of men would take me if I was eighteen once more
What would we do... you can see so many stars at the horse paddocks
Before these days arrived I would have analysed my thoughts
I would have taken my favourite dreams and bred them with my fantasies
I would rubbed in some oil paint, some spit and some family history
And written a poem to stick in an envelope
To send to a friend, maybe in Germany, maybe in Laos
But those friends are no longer ones to read poetry
Those countries are no longer ones to accept my mail
My words are well established trees in their own little forrest
Happy not to go anywhere or do anything
Never to be pruned, or harvested of any fruit
Yet the birds fly there and roost at night
Birds that must come from a different country at the start of spring
What country? Maybe Germany, maybe Laos
Birds that chatter and fight and preen themselves amongst my wordtrees
While I sit and watch the Ivy grow over my door
Thinking of horse paddocks, thinking of sunsets and clouds
Thinking of static and little voices speaking over large heartbeats
I think of a lot
There is no danger in this, there are only consequences