In Bocklehampton’s St Eczema’s church, a stained glass window has shed new light on the age-old debate surrounding the nature of Jesus Christ’s relationship with Mary Magdalene. The image captured in the window portrays the couple in an intimate pose, set against a picturesque rural backdrop, seemingly about to embrace.

It has been said that stained glass windows were the “photography of the age,” and it’s entirely possible that JC & MM, while out for a leisurely stroll one hazy Sunday afternoon, stumbled upon a local craftsperson and commissioned the piece as a way to immortalise their cherished memory.

Asked if I need a bag for my groceries
Sheepishly, I confess that I do
Next question: “Did you find everything you needed?”
Half-heartedly, I report that I had done so
followed impulsively by: “Mission accomplished.”
Which, I immediately regret

The regret shows in my eyes
and the unconscious way in which
I draw inwards my lower lip
Signalling an involuntary slip
A blip
the unfathomable need to extend an answer
beyond a simple “Yes.”

She sees my regret
and remains silent
What did I expect?
A laugh?
A smile?
An amusingly cute riposte?

Her eyes focus on the job in hand
my groceries pass through her hands
transferring them from shopping basket
across a red light scanner
before packing them neatly
into the compostable plastic carrier

Œuf Vierge

She enters my bubble, sits facing me in this here American diner
staring straight out across the table, expecting me to recognise and remember

I retain my apparent composure as a power station fuels a search
through the totality of my memory

A brief, sensual smile disappears so fast, I’m not sure it was ever there

Out from shadows, a staff member readied approaches
fingers clasping notebook and pen poised

“An unbroken egg please; not boiled, fried, scrambled nor poached.” My company instructs, delivered matter of fact. “Shell left intact.”

Okay remember, this is New York, thinks the young and intelligent waiter
I’ll just provide what she wants and laugh to myself about it later

The waiter asks, “A coffee refill, for Sir?”
Expectant, hanging on for an answer

“Yes, he will.” My uninterruptible bubble invader opposite commands
“Because you like coffee, don’t you?”

I Guess Where You’re From

At the railway station, a few metres in front of a café, I held up a piece of cardboard torn from a box, upon which I had written in black ink marker-pen:

“I BET I CAN GUESS WHERE YOU’RE FROM WITHOUT HEARING YOU SPEAK“

Claude looked like he had time to kill, waiting for a train connection. I watched, as he sauntered towards me, looking thoughtful. All in one motion, placing his briefcase onto the ground, clasped between his ankles, he pointed at the sign with his index finger, then pointed to himself.

I looked at him for a few seconds, with a blank expression on my face. “Belgian.” I said, forming an innocent smile.

Claude jerked backwards, as if a fairytale ogre had appeared behind him and given the collar of his coat a sharp tug.

Dog-Speak

I once knew a woman
alas, no more

(I mean, alas no more do I know, her
Not ‘no more’ in the sense of her being dead)
(Although she may be, for all I know
But I very much hope not, obviously)

I once knew a woman
alas no more
Probably still very much alive

A seemingly sane woman
by most available
measurable psychiatric standards
pertaining to mental health

♀

♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀

Fran, Windenberger and I

Fran pours a little positivity into my cup
With a letter (finally) replying to my own
Enclosed with her letter an exhibition guide

‘Des images en partage’
Exposition Photographique
Jacques Windenberger

It’s all written in French.
But is relatively easy enough to comprehend
Within the booklet, examples flow
Yet, in this age of image saturation
I like some lots, I like some less so

Because, everyone does this sort of thing now
Everyone takes all different photos imaginable
Who has style any more?
Who has a distinct style?

Not Windenberger
Not me
Not you, either

Brinkinfield

Getting It On

It has been said that stained glass windows were the “photography of the age,” and it’s entirely possible that JC & MM, while out for a leisurely stroll one hazy Sunday afternoon, stumbled upon a local craftsperson and commissioned the piece as a way to immortalise their cherished memory.

Checkout Conversation

Œuf Vierge

I Guess Where You’re From

Dog-Speak

♀

Fran, Windenberger and I

Old Actors

Much of the Time

Anyone Know?