MeasureMEnt

 

MeasureMEnt 

He has faith

How quaint

The dull-eyed cynic says

 

It takes an age

To come to rest

And live with stalled desire

 

Beside the naked flame

Young flesh will singe

And lean-in to dangerous spaces

 

Only patience can reward

A player in the waiting game

Measured by the frantic pack

 

Perhaps it’s best to cling

To rays of light

And shine

Moments

 

 

MomentsMoments

I send out daily bites
As nourishment for souls
Unbidden
Is this generosity?
Sharp insights that come from moments
Freshly squeezed. The sap of thoughts
That flounder if they are not transmitted

Throwing out the fishes and loaves
Displacement of all that is mine
Just moments. All that I have
Are they gifts?
These little things mean a lot to me
Harboured as they are in neutrality
Go children for it pleases me to watch

Discharged. My atomic vanity
Simpers. Hoping for traction
Wishing above all to be absorbed
Is this guilt?
For the smallness that haunts
Can taunt in an ironic way
Because I know too much about irrelevance

Father Thames

Father ThamesFather Thames

 

Percussion of slips from the big grey sky

Taps with mocking feet on glass

A snide whisper of wind ushers them along

Putting a wash upon their beat

 

Beyond the obscurity of wet glass

Flood waters still rise

We, not more than half a mile from the front line

Mark time and slink along the tarmacadamed borders

 

Watch the swollen, racing River Thames

Slice portions of gardens from the bank

Twist restraining ropes and sever possessions

From their aching ties

 

Tragedy is an unworthy spectator sport

For those that are poorly moored

Are sucked below the wet horizon

And sulk, tethered, stolen dreams

 

As rain continues to dance on our restraints

The final frontier is more desperate

More crude. Sand bags

To hold back the tide?