Aleppo, Syria

Here on these artificial rocks
grow grassy spikes of aerials
and daisy dishes turning to
a man-made sun invisible.

Over this arid urban view,
a European alphabet
of jagged angles, broken lines,
the flights of pigeons play their part.

They glide and flow a sunlight ink
to brush on sky a cursive script,
a natural variation of
calligraphy of Arabic

Do you know what love is, Mother, do you know?
And can you tell me how to find it, where to go,
how I'll know it if I find it, does it show?
Oh, do you know what love is, Mother, do you know?

Daughter, love has many faces, you will see.
Just think how I love you and you love me
and how we love your father both and then how he
loves us, and you will know what love is, do you see?

Is that the whole of love then, Mother, nothing more?
What if tall young men come calling at the door?
What if someone says he loves me, is he sure
of what he says or just pretending, nothing more

Two things you need to know, my child, only two -
if what he says to you is really true,
and then, if you love him, how much he means to you.
But  oh, if there is nothing  you can do !

But if we loved each other, what could interfere?
Belonging to each other year by year
our love would be too strong for us to fear
that anything could part us, surely that is clear.

Love is not so simple, child, as you may find
if love as passion conflicts with love that's kind,
if your heart's yearning still cannot be blind
to how you'd hurt the loved ones that you'd leave behind.

Now I don't understand you, mother, do you mean
that love can cause you pain, can intervene
in happiness - has that ever been?
Mother, is that a kind of love that you have seen?

Yes I know what love is, darling, how I know,
breaking my heart to love him yet to let him go.
Quickly, come and kiss me, dear, and let me show
how much I love you. There. Now off you go.

We mark their maths and aren't impressed
by the knowledge that they show
but know they're not among the best
and the standard is quite low.

Then from the impersonal page the zest
of character gleams through;
with no more literacy blessed
their comments still ring true.

Explain your answer: "I just guessed."
Too honest or naive?
Not what's supposed to be assessed -
refusal to deceive !

A chance to get things off their chest:
"I'm sorry. I don't know"
"I never understood the rest."
"It's just that I'm so slow."

Perhaps their maths should not be stressed
more than their virtues, though
we emphasise what we can test
not what we ought to know.

Excuse my lust, unseemly at my age;
laugh if you must at someone not so sage
stirred by the bud and blossom of your youth,
spurred by your character's potential growth
watering dry wrinkles with summer rain,
promising pleasure but threatening pain,
colouring complexion, seeping through skin,
unfolding fantasies, reviving sin,
revivifying what had seemed dead -
a rescued life, in bed just in my head.

Seascape

I saw you twenty minutes ago
from the road on the hill.
Your face was not so deeply wrinkled then,
nor your manner so cold.
From the subdued land
you, the older sister seemed quite friendly;
the white waves were a twinkle in your eye
and the sun sliding between the clouds
brought young colours, greens and blues,
to your complexion.

At your footstool now
the grey waves, hostile,
show your strength and power.
Superior with your knowledge
of shores I shall not see,
of depths I cannot know,
your lonely beauty spurns me.

But I have seen you calm,
playful at my feet
like some small animal,
wiping my footprint from the sand
with a single teasing flourish of your hand.

There was a young lady of Lingfield
lay out in the sun with a windshield:
"It tans me a lot
and I don't get too hot"
she claimed. All the same all her skin peeled.

First overland trip

Stamps and coins earn scant respect;
train numbers even less;
antiques and paintings just reflect
the wealth that some possess.

Birds' eggs and butterflies demand
some knowledge of wildlife;
birdwatchers' lists of species scanned
need patience and some strife.

Most women though are quite content
with house and family,
collecting things to ornament
the home domestically.

And men collect their status toys -
computer, car and phone,
while mothers joke "Men will be boys."
admiring what they own.

Collecting things is harmless fun
and, if it gives you pleasur
no need to denigrate some-one
who that way fills his leisure.

But what of those who won't conform,
true overlanders free
from tyranny's accepted norm
oppressing you and me?

Hard drinking, smoking rockers, fierce
with tatoo on one shoulder
and banded biceps, faces pierced,
ignoring getting older.

It's not so much how high you fly
that differs you from me;
it's more I think you like to lie
of how things seem to be.

You too collect a sort of thing
despite your kicking traces
when in the bar you always fling
in names of foreign places.

You also lead a routine life
along a beaten track
without a mortgage, kids and wife
but camp to camp and back.

Eventually you'll settle down,
an owner not a guest,
and change your smile for a frown
collecting money like the rest.