Twenty-five years
For Tebo
I waken too early, on woodsman’s toes explore
a home that’s still, until our neighbour turns
the news up loud, and you begin to snore
to match the rhythm of the morning trains.
Again I discover as though surprised, the sounds
of dawn are sung by modern life not birds,
that we inhabit cul de sacs, not glades,
wear dressing gowns, not bark cloth capes or furs.
So coffee and toast, and a view of the low winter sky,
an hour or two at tasks brought home from work:
I read, respond, review, redraft, delay,
and listen out for when I hear you stir.
We make pastel love, and when we look outside,
a quiet snow has fallen across the town.
The sun shines on the whitened roofs and road.
We smile and put the central heating on.
Phil Vernon lives in Kent, and works in London for an overseas charity. He started writing poetry again in 2012 after a twenty-year break. Whereas in the past his poems were mostly written in free verse, he now embraces more formal forms, as he finds this means his own words and ideas surprise him more often.