Up North

Arrival

We reach the cottage
Unpacking is delayed by
Squabbling over rooms


Liquid refreshment

The local water
Carries the faint tang of  salt
It sticks to the teeth


Transformation

Within half an hour
The neat empty kitchen is
A familiar mess


Plumbing

Experimenting
With the shower tap settings:
It's Russian roulette


Not found

Drifting like ghosts from
Room to room, mobiles in hand,
We search for signals


Refuge

I wake up feeling
That there is something missing:
Oh - there is no noise


Downtime

The kitchen clock ticks
Unnoticed: nobody has
Any meetings planned


Burdened

The apple tree bends
Under the strain of lifting
The swollen ripe fruit



Late

The night's silence is
Broken by a distant train
Like an owl's sad hoot



Early

Through the open door
The crisp clean air floods in
Sharpening senses


Diaspora

Meeting old friends is
A reminder of time and
Distance we've travelled



Snug

The purple heather
Lies like a heavy blanket
On the sleeping hill


Buffet

Another pub lunch
Sitting outside in the sun:
Wasps are invited


Crisis

The village shop's closed
So the nearest source of milk
Is five miles away


Details

It's easy to miss
The map's faint contour lines when
Planning a journey


Plan B

Energy exhausted
They wait while I go ahead
To collect the car


Blase

The bullock stares back
Chewing lazily on the cud
He's not interested


Sunday

People crowd the shops
Seeking souvenirs, postcards,
Presents, toys and treats


Street theatre

The entertainer
Does his magic trick: making
The crowd disappear


Private sport

The bus driver aims
For the deep puddles, trying
To drench the pavement


Market forces

Museums charge high
Admission prices, but art
Galleries are free


Horrible history

The Middle Ages
Were a time of great piety,
Disease and squalor


Activity

Butterflies flutter
Around the buddleia bush
In morning sunshine


Work ethic

The half-done jigsaw
Exerts its demand: it has
To be completed


Routine

By the third day we
Have established a pattern
For the morning tasks


Forecast

The barometer's
Needle edges up, bringing
Hope of changed weather


Trouble

Talk of future plans
Bubbles into argument
Then understanding


Victim

An upturned beetle
On the bathroom floor vainly
Tries to right himself


Omen

The photograph showing
A Nazi rally displays
A common purpose


Finale

Many hands are found
To help with the last stages
Of the big jigsaw


Symptom

Extravagantly
Smooth, my close-shaved chin's a sign
Of time on my hands


Locomotion

The Age of Steam was
Before our time, but the trains
Were simply better


Thoughtless

A dad tells his child
To put his head out of the
Moving train's window


Pedestrianised

Puffing and panting
We inch up the long incline
Like the trains used to


Haggling

The ticket machine
Prefers a smart card but it
Will settle for cash



Late August

Each chill morning hints
At a change of season soon:
Summer is ending


Reorientation

After relaxing,
From two days before we leave
Thoughts turn towards home


Packing

We subtract our things
Room by room, removing all
Trace of residence


The map fallacy

Moving south always
Feels quicker because we go
Down the atlas page



Surfeit

The car is quiet
Children sleeping or staring
At the passing views




28/8/10

Little England beyond Wales (Pembrokeshire)

Little England

Neither visitors
Nor local inhabitants
Have strong Welsh accents

Picturesque

The boatsman curses
And pulls at the mooring rope:
Tourists think it quaint

Hyperlocality

Local produce makes
Local food for non-local
Consumers with cash

Porthgain sunset

Oystercatchers strut
The harbour mud, the works now
Idle and silent
.

Herding

The collie listens
For ancient commands: "Away"
"Come by" and "Lie down"

Leaving

The Irish ferry
Dips below the horizon
Headed for Rosslare

10/8/10

A long way from anywhere (July, Nantwich)

Country air

The canal's scent (blocked
Drains) competes with the odour
Of manure-spreading


Gridlock

The road system makes
The most of its meagre traffic
With traffic lights


Throwbacks

Bored teenagers sit
On benches, like everywhere,
But they sometimes smile


New horizons

Many have departed
Leaving the old, the young, and
The unambitious


The bells, the bells

Thursday night practice
Peals ring out, a marathon
Of matrimony


Dissonance

A charity shop
Shows misery memoirs as
Its best-selling books


Holiday

The schools, offices,
Cafes, even the hotels,
Close for the summer


Fine distinctions

They are proud to be
From Cheshire, not Merseyside,
But sound like Scousers


Hard sell

The sign to the town
From the supermarket pleads
For more visitors


27/07/10

Metropolis

1. Hardware

Immersion

Stepping off the train
I'm engulfed by smells and noise
And the milling crowds

Becoming

Cranes arc the skyline
The city is unfinished,
A work in progress

Soundscape

Cars, planes and machines
Compete for decibel count:
Humanity's unheard

A/C

Unseen, the big fans,
Striving to stir the thick air,
Make a constant roar

Oasis

A quiet garden
Secluded from the traffic:
A lunchtime haven

Change

Free Evening Standards
Stacked outside the tube station:
The sellers have gone

Afternoon


The pavement glowers
Blood-hot air is heavy
With sweat and garlic


Afterwards

Tavistock Square looks
Unscarred, no longer marked out
By unwanted fame

Support

Scaffolding is like
Ivy: you never know when
It's holding walls up

Patch of blue

Sometimes when you round
A corner you can catch a
Glimpse of open sky

Mood swing

The train rises on
Its axles as passengers
Reach destinations


2. Software

Masks

Faces, all colours,
Bear the same shell-shocked grimace:
Hardened veterans

Babel

Short snatches of speech
Extravagantly diverse
Like flipping channels

Flocking together

In pairs and trios
Clusters wearing the same clothes
Knot the broad pavement

Always greener

The dozing beggar
In the shopfront is envied
By passing workers

Pariahs

Hanging round like kids
In doorways: smokers and those
On their mobile phones

Insight

It's not that people
Can't talk or smile, just that they
Meet many strangers

No country for old men

Every waitress,
Cook, bus driver, policeman
Is under thirty

Class

The staff bustle and
Seek the indulgence of their
Wealthy old masters

Withdrawal

Face wet with tears
She fidgets, sobbing a tale
Of meeting a friend

Preparation

Office worker sits
Touching up her mascara
Deep underground

Ink

It is good to see
So many books in hand - so
Reading is not dead

Rush hour physics

Room for just one more?
Somehow, there will always be
Room for just one more

The male gaze

I openly stare
At a beauty, forgetting
I've no sunglasses


20/7/10

Martin Locock

Crow in Westminster Abbey: a Ted Hughes memorial

Down the river

On Tower Green,

Sleek ravens strut:

Their wings are clipped.



Crow is free to soar

His space, broad and high.

Through plumes of incense,

Sooty candle smoke.

Far below, tourists

Trample Chaucer's grave.



Crow feels the loss:

The north wind's absence

The missing green-brown

Palette of the moors,

But takes heart that

Something survives.

The Skeleton Coast

Skeleton Coast by Martin Locock acrylic on board (C) 2010

Breakers pound the beach
Editing the sea's graffiti
Rewriting lines in the sand

Bald dunes, too arid to retain
A hairline of grass
Inch towards  the interior

The wind howls around
Bleached whale bones


I review my options
East and west - impassable
North and south -prospects unpromising
Offering no hint of change

Yet staying would be worse -
I'd face the same choice tomorrow
But would be tireder, weaker

I stand up, start to to walk,
My hollow footprints smoothed
By the shore's impatient hand


7/5/10

Landscape and language in the Arctic

They say Eskimos
Have two hundred words for snow*
And one word for love

Imagine a world
With one word for snow and two
Hundred words for love


*It isn't true that they have 200 words for snow.

Airport

Welcome to Heathrow
The world's biggest bus station
Queue here for tickets

Arrivals emerge
Tired, battered, blinking: they can't
Match their meeters' joy

Knots of travellers
Confer about the delays,
faces lined in doubt

One by one the planes
Drop down from the holding loop
Buzzing the M4

The remote chance of
Terrible violence seems to
Worry people more

Than the certainty
Of boredom, chaos, expense:
The glamour of flight

End of the pier show

Wigan owes George Orwell no thanks:
He made the dismal pier a by-word
For squalor and industrial decay

But in the exuberant 1980s,
As the town faced its post-industrial future,
Heritage seemed a tangible asset

The 'Wigan Pier Experience' was born
From canals, bridges and warehouses;
The tourists failed to appear
The experience unwanted:

The heritage centre's now closed down.

Toronto notebook: a haikulogue

Foreign

The taxi driver's
Accent is hard to pin down:
Oh, it's Serbian


The same but different

A squirrel explores
The corners of the car park
But its fur is black


Footfall

Pedestrian city
Nobody wonders why you
Choose to walk around


Negative advertising

A sex shop is named
Very unappealingly
It's "Not just condoms"


High rise

Hemmed in by glass blocks
The passing clouds can be seen
As cool reflections


Convenience

Plastic surgeons and
Dentists vie for passing trade
With the sandwich shops


Security

Sirens aren't common
The police station dormant,
Another office


Jetlag

I've changed my watch but
I think my stomach's still
Eating on British time


Manners

Breakfast is labelled
"All you care to eat": Nanny
Would surely approve


Local news

Headlines mean nothing:
names I have never heard of
Doing something, or not


Babylon

The air's sickly sweet
In the wake of a black guy
Smoking a fat joint


Evening

The pavements are full
As tourists and locals seek
Food, drink and good times


Wheels

A long-legged girl skates
Dodging through the ambling crowds
Eyes follow her path


Temperature control

The Canadians
Have their air conditioning
We have our windows


Small rebellions

Although the waiter
Says "Have a nice day" to you,
His heart's not in it


Welcome

Doors which are unlocked
Are still kept closed: no labels
Hint at openness


Trapped

People approach me
All the time, wanting to
Tell me boring things


College

Ivy hugs old walls
Obscuring Gothic windows
Clutching ancient stones


The passion

A nude bronze statue
Arms outstretched, unsettles me
"Crucified woman"


Neighbours

Visiting tourists
Forgetfully say "Here in
the United States"


An exception

Although order and
Tidiness seem general,
There's some graffiti


Manners 2

"No excessive noise"
Warns a road sign, leaving its
Key term undefined


Time

The Catholic church
Sounds the hours with its bells; chimes
Doubled by echoes


Nutritional advice

Chocolate milk is
Not a food group; and maple
Syrup is not fruit


Half empty

Wine bought by the glass
May not fill it halfway up:
Leaves me wanting more


Queen's Park

The park is busy
A girl does Tai Chi while
Joggers trot past her


Patience

A squirrel sits up
Swaying, focused on watching
The berried branch move


Museum

The forecourt rattles
As the subway train passes
Beneath the sidewalk


Meteorological Office

A proud plaque records
"Bringing weather to you since
1892"


Rapid transit

The line runs next to
The real railway, carrying freight,
Its bigger brother


Little England

Islington, Old Mill,
Runnymede, Lansdowne, Bathurst:
Named by pioneers


Airport bus

Flight crew, when earthbound,
Share bus seats with mere mortals:
They stay dignified


Equality

The premium class
Passengers queue just as long
As all the others


Limbo

On the brink of change
Turning back to UK time
My watch means nothing


Airport

The gallery looks out
On boys' toys - the planes and trucks
Playing together

Belfast notebook

A series of haiku written in the course of a visit to Belfast. They are intended to catch my thoughts and reactions at the time and don't reflect my considered views.

Safety announcement:
Bend forwards, head down, and then
Kiss your arse goodbye

The plane, like a queen
Moves fast and straight above the
Chequerboard of fields

From above, the clouds
Look clean and new, like Earth
When freshly fashioned

The cold bus station
At night, empty of buses:
Travellers marooned

Turning a corner
I find an angry mural:
Still fighting a war

Midnight, midweek, still
The air thick with strong liquor
They're hard drinkers here

University
Dressed up like a Gothic church
Knowledge is worshipped

Larkin liked it here
But he liked Leicester and Hull
So can't be trusted

A loner zig-zags
Talking as he walks along
Lost in mobile chat

An accent suited
To rapid escalation
To extreme anger

Peace's four horsemen:
Building work, English firms, wealth,
Global chains, have come

The place has Troubles:
The past not an anodyne
Distant narrative

The departure board
Makes it seem halfway between
London and Dublin

Faces pinched and pale
Vitamin C hasn't yet
Arrived in Ulster

Happy to talk to
Anybody, anywhere
Or just to themselves

They still make things here
New factories not just shops
How old fashioned is that?

Coffee house culture
Brings the cafe tables out
Into the drizzle

Government buildings
Old, squat, proud and resentful
Fight irrelevance

The street map shows no
Boundaries between beliefs
Just names from headlines

Big Issue sellers
Are a commonplace, alas:
They're no big issue

The city drivers
Are always slow to signal
Quick to sound their horns

The delay is due
To the road improvement works
Thanks for not minding

I'm doubly foreign
English, from Wales: a tourist
Fresh from overseas

However modern
Airports always have concealed
Tacky old corners

A hen party shrieks
Dressed in custom-made T shirts
Ready for wild times

Dark prism

Glo they call it
Sheened like a beetle's back

High the price
Lives lost or marred
White fingers, clotted lungs
Senghenydd, Gresford, Aberfan

Steam and smoke
Fuel to power an empire
Shovelled into fireboxes and hearths

The wealth it brought
Turned to ash
The land scarred
Buildings silent

On the ridge
Grey turbines turn
The valley sleeps
Its labour done

A chronological survey of the viability of coalmining at Abernant

Depth: 0 years 2006

Kites circle the landfill tip
Lorries bring waste from far away
The surface sheds make rusting homes
To workshops and short-lived stores
The tidal swarm of miners gone


Depth: 20 years 1986

Hands, deep grimed with coal,
Clap for warmth on the picket line
Shoulder to donkey-jacketed shoulder,
The strikers bar the gateway
Matched by a fluorescent line of police

The scabs arrive in a tatty bus
Met by a storm of jeers and threats
Heads bowed, they pass through
To their lonely shift


Depth: 40 years 1966

A new era of mining dawns
Well engineered, gleaming,
In fresh new buildings
A workforce trained and keen
The promise of coal
A dream of prosperity and purpose


Depth: 60 years 1946

White eyes in black faces
Blinking in the daylight
A cacophony of accents
Bevan Boys from Scotland and Kent
Leaven the local voices
Trudging out of the pit
Exhausted by victory


Depth: 80 years 1926

Striking against pay-cuts
The Feds and Communists
Are joined by their colleagues

Some, penniless, dig pirate mines
To heat their threadbare homes


Depth: 100 years 1906

Smoke fills the valley
A wailing whistle and hiss
The first train heads for Swansea
Heavy with lumps of anthracite
Waved on its way with cheers

Belonging

Some people are born where they belong,
Their home and family supply all needs:
The glow of hearthlight waxes strong
The call of the wider world recedes.

And some search long but never find
A spot where they can set up base
At last they must become resigned
To moving on from place to place

And some again, the lucky few
Are urged to leave, and to seek out
An individual rendezvous
With love's whisper or fame's shout

Belonging is a state of mind
Tranquility its foremost fruit
Sought by all, but many find
It cannot grow without a root


REPRODUCTION RIGHTS
I give permission to students to quote and reproduce this poem in assigments on condition that the poem is credited to Martin Locock and the url is stated: http://locock3.blogspot.com/2007/01/belonging.html.

Teachers and others wishing to include it in resource packs should contact me at mlocockATgmailDOTcom.


CONTEXTUAL INFORMATION
Information about the poet can be found at A Few Words (see for example Self portrait in 30 statements) and Answers to questions from Poet's Letter, and there are also author's notes about the poem.


PUBLICATION

Belonging is included in my poetry collection Carefully Chosen Words published by Carreg Ffylfan Press.

Roanoke, Spring

The wind blows steady from the east
Bringing air tangy with salt

The banks of mist, torn and tattered, clear,
Revealing distant land-masses to north and south

Sand and reeds whistle and rattle
Across the dunes

The storm beach is littered with flotsam,
Tarred timbers and frayed ropes

The Outer Banks have sheltered many,
Ships and sailors, refugees

Seeking haven from Atlantic storms
A pause for thought

Here the horizon is full of choices
Each compass-point a destination

I wrap myself up, staring out to sea
Awaiting an omen to guide me

I have lost my faith in experience
Since it has brought me here

Soil temperature

To test the soil in Spring
To time the sowing of seed
The farmer used to sit
Bare-buttocked on the ground:
"Warm enough for me", he'd say.

Many seasons later
His bones seed the soil
Under a blanket of earth
Protected from winter's frost:
"Warm enough for me", he'd say.

A short history of Wales

As glaciers crept around Paviland Cave
We laid our first leader in his grave

We prised the Preseli bluestones free
Sent them to Stonehenge over the sea

The Roman soldier oiled his curls
Didn't bother with local girls

Arthur's veins ran with royal blood
Made a palace of sticks and mud

Rebecca's children have grown up wrong
Drunk on story, myth and song

The millennium dawns on Cardiff Bay
A nation reborn, or so they say