For Sale. Sold.

For Sale. Sold.

For Sale. Sold.

 

 

So today,

                        my seat of learning

the hub for that savage part,

                                                of life.

Exchanges hands. Ownership surrendered.

 

The boy and the teen, his bedroom. Those fears and changing schools.

First bike, a canoe, love-bite and lost cherry.

Yes all of that will go today

On a lawyers note.

A bankers draft

My nascent history

Mother and father in rude health.

Now both gone

The sign at the gate

Stood down

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

 

 

They have,

suffered rendition by twilight

opaque souls in jelly moulds

behind distorting glass, wet with steam

from discarded breath

 

They descend, en masse, downhill

Ensconced in their private mires

While I travel the other way

En route but solo to another place

Thinking as I pass

How willingly we let

Our lives go by

 

 

No flash of brilliance. No insight

Just a chance sighting

A fraction of glimpsed time

Scar tissue of mine

Shock in Awe

Shock in Awe

Shock in Awe

Shock in Awe

 

He spoke to me of grace

And said it was ‘second-hand’

 

I found that hard to understand

When the words came so easily

 

The air he used he said was spent

Just turned and turned around

 

A soft breeze

That could threaten storms

 

And there I was, as if

In the presence of a prophet

 

Spell-bound in admiration

For a weaver of thoughts

 

But he just smiled and said,

‘ It’s a wonderful thing’

 

And left me flailing

In an alphabet. Like a dope.

The Present Tense

The Present Tense

The Present Tense

The present tense

 

That drawn line

A thin edge for beauty

Dripping visions of desire

 

That opportunistic slant

Of a well-worn hope

Encouraging. Persistent

 

Like roses at the garden gate

Bluebells in sylvan woods

Ambrosia in spoken words

 

Ingredients of determination

Coat-hangers in new clothes

For stepping out

 

All these anchor points

More or less make sense

In quiet moments

Echo

Echo

Echo

Echo

 

 

That midnight spell

When we capered in moon-light

Felled trees with shafts of cold precision

And waited for the morning dew

To lay diamonds on the day

Though nothing was sordid

Not like an inhabited day

Which rains through grimy overlays

But now, in silence

The dark and smothered perspective

Is waiting for sound

To give distance away

Echo

 

 

That midnight spell

When we capered in moon-light

Felled trees with shafts of cold precision

And waited for the morning dew

To lay diamonds on the day

Though nothing was sordid

Not like an inhabited day

Which rains through grimy overlays

But now, in silence

The dark and smothered perspective

Is waiting for sound

To give distance away

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

 

Sobering to think

Each second

Each instant

Is loaded

 

We only need

To harvest

Potential

To ignite a spark

 

‘Only’ is preposterous

We angle at

A magic trick

The sleek back of a bullet

 

And somehow

In that ‘seized moment’

We are aligned

Past and future present

 

A marvellous particle

Immaculate on the back

Of fusion

And so we come and go

Speech Bubbles

Speech Bubbles

Speech Bubbles

Speech Bubbles

 

Is poetry a parcel for universal suffering

An enclosure for loss

The entry point of a wound

The exit where death remembers the whole

Or am I in my self-appointed fashion

My buttons, frills and high blown fancy

That nothingness contained in bubbles?

 

Froth, spume and cotton drift

On a barren road imagined

Out of the wildest west

The creaking spoke of a decorative wheel

That blisters tired wood and listens to

A screeching lament of rust on metal

 

All these startled visions are

Quiet intersections caught in thought

Harvested as food

For minds that seek

Succour in company

Dried strips of meat

For curing

The smell of which

May entertain a soul