as if

Barbie dolls

 

 

they needed permission to be exuberant

repression and prejudice joyously exposed

flaunts publicly in the face of all that approbrium

and dances in the streets

of a capital city alive – stripped of the nods and winks

the brothers and sisters and in-betweeners

make a riot in plain sight

the anarchy of self evident truths

rituals and history unstitched to reveal

reality made to lurk in the mainstream

a marching band with glitter and horns

tattoos and stencils, face- paint and flamboyance

defiantly, brazenly, a baby suckling at a breast

the  parade polishing itself as it progresses

a serpent in a rainbow that pulses and says

look at me

a flexed, honed torso wearing only a gold posing pouch

and on his head a fan of barbie dolls

next to him a woman – the two of them – an exhibit

a romance in a cameo of the human race

everywhere the promise of a crescendo

and nowhere the commonplace

this then a reflection of everything we can ever hold dear

the many questions and troubled faiths conjoined

as if

Start me up

Start me up. pic

 

 at first light untrammelled by fear

the first thought, that fragile thing

is wary in the unfolding moments

before the day expands

into a precious arc like a fisherman’s net,

cast wide;

and it should always be an optimistic sweep

of eyes not yet occluded by doubt

limbs not yet bothered by gravity

and a heart willing to pump

fresh energy to gather-up

the mornings catch

a walk around the cricket pitch

a walk around the cricket pitch. pic for poem

 

on and on the breath, in columns, goes

onwards as if marching to roam

beyond far walls and more beyonds  than an Irish spell

and in the margins crickets make their chirrups

of beating wings but I hear only silence and solemn air

and my wife is exasperated that I cannot hear them

as their agitation is all around,  so she tuts,

making her own boundary wall of sound to admonish me

for my deafness to the cricket’s pitch

and I wonder as we perambulate whether

I am lacking in other ways and whether

monogamy is all they crack it up to be

after all this time living in sighs

perhaps I have been caught Leg Before Wicket

a premature end to my meanderings

never mind . another circuit. more raucous appeals

and we’ll leave it all behind

the umpire at the centre and the scorer at the margins

a wide open door – and dreams