inside out

inside out. pic for poem

 

that stranger in the mind sits

as if on a tightrope

suspended between heaven and earth

convinced somehow that sense will shine

and YOU will blush from the pleasure

of bearing witness to greatness

YOU will take a token of spent love

tossed off as a casual gift

and be blessed by that contaminate

 

Only time in it’s wise fractions

will testify

spreading gaunt strips of doubt

and shake those deluded notions

until life or death can be resolved

to sanction that sense of loss

bestowing gravity on your conceit

for that stranger in the mind

must be exposed

for us

 

for us. pic for poem

for us

a sea rises beneath the ice

in a rasping wet friction of sounds

breathing below the crust

as the sounds of aeons squealing, mingling

in secrets and trysts, murders and

quiet kindnesses

all enslaved to a kingdom in limbo

in search of the mystery above

 

for us

they face one another disoriented

by nature and climate as it circles

the globe

and we, adoptive custodians,  tinker

at the fringes like alchemists

stirring the oceans and gazing

at swirling accretions of plastic

in trapped oceanic pockets

 

for us

extinction will be the longest full-stop

a foretelling of the blindness that holds

the hands of self-harm

we are so insistent, so superior, so deaf

to the echoes of poetry that wails

in the souls of those who have been long gone

but still ache with the loss that is

their knowledge, their lost and floating ethereal gifts

for us

Hello, again

Hello

 

come find me passion

maraud across my open spaces

my steppes, swept and dried

tinged and longing for

infinity

where an echo is out-run

where lines are drawn and forgotten

like desire that apes only

the very best moments.

All definition and certainty

subsumed in the haste

to consume a lavish meal.

drowned and spent

The residue. A crust

a lost love affair,

all misty

and so I go

to each new day

an addition. a loss, a stroke

an explosion of now.

James

James for poem

 

a day looms in the near future

laden with unknown fears because

it is, or it could be, a turning point,

a signal, a way-point. Certainly it will mark

a departure and the loss

of our red haired son with his given name

into the company of other men

other souls who seek solace in extremity

who will bawl his name and push him

to limits we his parents never could

never would

and in those moments of strain

where God may not be found but god invoked

this boy, this man, our progeny

must know that our love

will not desert him in that liminal state

he finds between his youth and his future

and he will come to know what I have learnt

that he is powerless, yet as a child of love

he carries us, our love, our future seeds

and he is goodness if he so chooses

variation on a crow

variation on a crow. pic

 

oblivious black                                                                                                         

like blown litter,  he                                                 

a rag on a branch perches                                  

with the suggestion of blue in his wings           

 and electricity shielding a heart beat

below  rapacious eyes that witness the rise

as he smears the air with nonchalance and knows

any loss of height, any turbulence

won’t kill him because sin is dark

and his feathers are without recrimination

so  he taunts me with his lightness of being

 and the complicity of his dark humour

somehow knowing that his death and mine

have been foretold