This is a poem of observation and speculation.
          An ordinary scene but one which took on a particular sort of significance because of a perceived 'artful' quality to the observation.  I often find myself thinking of paintings when I am presented with certain arrangements of people in places.  It is inevitable, I suppose as most of the art that sticks in one's mind is narrative showing recognisable places or people or arrangements of buildings or shadows or whatever - not difficult to link to one's experience.
          The starting point for this poem was, two workmen talking and walking around some earthworks which are the foundations for a project which is ongoing near the cafe I use every day for my cup of tea.  I was surprised by the casual elegance of the framing of this couple by trees, equipment and the surrounding structures: the unremarkable could have made a whole series of 'arty' photographs - especially in black and white!
          It was while thinking about the way that the simplicity of the scene was charged by my own 'composition' of what I was looking at, that the idea for this poem arose.

Men

Two workmen talk.

Walk.  Look,

and talk again.

The artful opportunity

of an arranging eye

sets them in tableaux,

notes the artifice:

an arm extended;

weight all on one leg;

smoke curling from

inevitable cigarettes.

Two men talk,

and walk a space.

Painterly, a composition,

framed by branching trees.

Their clothes locate, define –

and yet it’s timeless.

Two men walk on

through history:

disciples, rogues and kings;

metaphors and saints – but

in the end they are

just men who

walk and talk.

This poem, like the previous poem with the long title, make me wonder about what I am saying or trying to say in my work.  I wonder if this poem says anything at all?  It does to me, but the key is whether it means anything to anyone else!  I will have to wait and see for the answer to that!