Breaks it

Breaks it. pic

 

this howling wind makes the sound of denial

edging and barging at the sides

of everything that has

the temerity

to even co-exist

it is like a beast contained but

I enjoy it’s song

always changing shape

escaping, seeking

breathless in its own anomaly

                                                of sound

I can imagine frontiers re-arranged

whole empires usurped

before the political elites are made aware

and how fun that would be

as the wind lifts off their suits and

shames them

their stolen respectability strewn

across frontiers and fences

undergarments on overhead lines

storm Georgina I would bow to thee

To be enthralled

To be enthralled

 

above

in the blue

spent traces linger

like smoke signals from

the occupants of aeroplanes

nostalgic for earth and all

that gravity

they can see through oval holes

and I wonder

if they wonder

how I am feeling

ant-like here in Sunbury park

a custodian of a dog that is

bewitched by squirrels

and my question is;

are we constrained by frontiers

you,

encircled by the mesh of heaven

and me , on ever extrapolating pathways

where our mutual independence is arbitrated by birds

by wind and nostalgia for what is missing in between

Are we simply refugees?

Not ever gone

 

Chess Mates. I have this sense of impending doom.

 

She rests there in dark matter

I apologize for using ‘she’

because mother it is you not she

I celebrate

your name encrypted on stone

an invitation to let go

to loosen tears and wet the earth

embracing you

while fond memories search for the present tense

in words stalled by time but still, their wings

are lamentations

that breathe a garnish on fresh flowers

the mourners grief a mist of warmth

and everything  succumbed to gravity

so that all around you have company

a regiment in this cemetery

and all of you ‘at ease’

Avoidance

Avoidance. Pic for poem

 

The dogs and their owners

smudges on this horizon are

just beyond the range of a call,

an imprecation to obey or

small-talk, that tittle-tattle

of the lonely

as the air they share in a conspiracy

of mounting grief

is just contained in pleasantries

 

I bear left and implore my dog

to follow suit

lest I am drawn-in to the oblivion

of chatter

for we are all, just, recognizable ciphers

in this space

So I duck between hedges that gape

with tired acceptance of this constant intrusion ( escape)

into another field and the welcome glare

 

of solitude

Two worlds separated by nothing much

A resentment perhaps. An irritation on the surface

of another, deeper disquiet

but that still and graven distance is like

the comfort of death

when knowing it all means

nothing at all

 

Web

 

Web. A pic

A silver line slinks down in a curve

from the side of the house

swaying in the meagre air

and settles on pink flower heads

that are wan against the misty backdrop

A grey shroud blanches

the turning colours of autumn

Then, as I watch, the filament collapses

as it detaches from the wall

Now I see the plant and flower heads it has set free

Tall and proud and smothered in a web of silver threads

that criss-cross the stems

enclosing misty space, inviting flight. Anticipating food.

This outdoor larder is conspicuous to me as the day begins

It is so easy to forget that I am a witness, however fleeting,

of another life. Another set of dreams.

If I am still. If I become a fraction.

I may enter in.

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.

False premise

Time passenger

Not bitter.  Not Gone

Not Resting In Peace

Not wasted. Not forgotten

Not lost in space

The atoms I carry

Their candour. Their ignorance

Tick Box. Tick Box

Seconds out

The regimen of folding a tie. Compliance

All but forgotten now. I know

Sun dance on jewelled water

Beauty broken by complaisance

The drip away of time

Until the flood

And then the view. Obsolete

A spoil. A wasteland. A derision

I am coming to claim

My false inheritance. My legacy

Please locksmith

Cut me that key

Prepare the plaque. A eulogy

Before I am gone