Shock in Awe

Writers pique. Photograph

 

He spoke to me of grace

and said it was ‘second hand’

 

I found that hard to understand

when words came so easily

 

The air he used he said ‘was spent’

just turned and turned around

 

 like 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.

Carrion

Carrion. Pic for poem

 

My thoughts are turning

My face turning

At what I feel is coming

An avalanche from the future

Brooding

And I shall look at it

With the fear that we all must possess

That deep embedded reflex

Of flight or fright

I am carrion.

 

The imminence of death as it lurks

Casually assessing its contenders

Is a spectre on the horizon

That eclipses hope and makes the moonlight vague

Is this a premonition?

Am I in the cross-hairs of His cold sight?

Or should I simply surrender to some greater design

because He can raise the stakes with His precocious wit

and out-bid my superstitious posturing at any moment

and bring down a curse upon my vanity

I am carrion.

Relay

Relay. Poem pic.

 

We pull back on the strings

of history

for comfort and to create

and re-create a sense of awe.

 

We praise the past with our lips

and words that search

for melody in the echoes

that souls leave on beaches and in fields.

 

Old bones fettered by gravity,

the sacraments,

weeping with impatience

muddle in and out of grace.

 

Until nothing is left

beyond peace and praise.

The memory embellished

and ready to be passed on.

Though sparks may fly.

Though sparks may fly. pic

 

he cut my chord with barren words

that echo even now when I

in my sixth decade find spite hidden

in memories

that wake me in the night

and know that my stump

that bit of me we call the soul

is grieving still and asking

plaintive questions knowing that

darkness will over-take every one

of my days

and lay waste to

the child who is still-born

within me.

 So I carry my own foetus unwillingly

in search of life

though in it’s sac, nightly,

I wake flinching at wounds

it’s memory holds intact

forever unleashing the last word

with a prick

to burst the tight skin

of my pride

 and damning with loveless eyes.

At the bar

 

 

My old bones in the morning ache

like cogs and wheels accumulating

rust from a cloying atmosphere.

Decrepitude. It mocks.

But I sense in this calling of time

a humour that goes with the warning

so I can languish in the arrested zone

and take stock

by starring in some delicious dreams

so real that heaven has surely come

and wrapped me in a welcome blanket.

So here, between the light and dark,

the mild and bitters,

I am a novice.

Ready to go lightly and laugh

at the tolling of last orders.

Ladies and Gentlemen. Time Please.

Sin Street. Sitges. 2017.

Sin Street. Sitges. 2017.

 

Narrow streets criss-cross

in a town that once was

heavy with the swaying legs

of mariners and anglers home from the sea.

 

Now it is swollen by the lustful stares

of men who harbour thoughts of other men

and women too who have a passion

for one another’s views.

 

Rows of seats line up facing each other

far from ambivalent

readied as if to joust

with anyone in a queue.

 

The pedestrian is fair game,

not so much for molestation

but the hungry appraisal of passing trade

discussing weights and measures.

 

Sin Street seethes in any light

at any time of day

but comes into its own at night

when darkness swells the fever.

Wash day

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

that beauty would be given shine

a rosary, an oath. The sheen on time

Each day rising through veils

so lazy blood is stirred to acknowledge life

and daybreak comes with virtue

A guarantee that love will whisper

in your ear, if you can find some harmony

some gentle way to deal with pain

and wrap your heart around the fear

that threatens to constrict the flow of blood

which surges in a questioning tide

all around

And all around

Begin again. Purge that fear

Accept the rhythm and go

barefoot repeatedly through the cycle

of light and dark

naked as your last thought