For James

Watchet station
Streams away from view
In a cloud of steam;
A distant memory,
Like laudanum. 

We were teenagers then,
On a first date, 
Embarking on a journey of love
Along the West Somerset Railway;
Smartly dressed to impress, 
Flowers for the lady,

Your Dad had taught you well. 
You were a gentleman among your peers,
A poet with freckles and red hair. 
And yet, a fallen angel. 

Our Dickensian-featured English teacher, Mr Downes, 
Wrinkled his brow, but never sanctioned us
For the passing of poetic love-notes between ourselves. 
(A+ students were privileged like that). 

You pursued me, encouraged me,
(Incorrigible James!), 
To follow my dreams - 
Beyond the class of the carriage in which we travelled; 
You gave me your hand and I stepped up. 

Exams passed like stations through Time, 
And our futures journeyed down separate tracks,
I moved in with another lover, but wrote. 

I heard a rumour a year or so later 
That you'd come off your rails; 
The ecstasy of the Nineties
A draw too far, young Coleridge. 

I sat here, in this very churchyard on your 40th, 
(The trip too much to bear before), 
And walked along the beach at Helwell Bay. 
A solitary red poppy pursued my attention
Amidst the crumbling cliff debris,
Dancing in the breeze, as I wept. 

I often wonder what kind of poet you'd be now, 
Perhaps you helped to write this with me?

I saw your face as the sun rose this morning - 
Across the tiredness of my mind. 
I crossed those fated tracks again yesterday, 
Endeavouring to press record, in your memory. 

Take a seat beside me on my journey
And watch the sun set in glorious shades of red…
For your cloud will never be lonely. 


A Wensley 

20.06.2023