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

equinox

equinox. pic

 

pearlescent light on down

glows softly white

the swan, regal in its habitat

glides on the mirror of last night’s dreams

oblivious

to all but history and her mate

today

coming on the back of time

which shifted seasons and stepped one hour back

so now the dark water sucks

the summer’s heat into its depths

and all of this the mute swan

reflects

as such, perhaps, maybe

as such,perhaps,maybe pic for poem

 

invite me in

to your parade of words

let them shine and settle as motes

fairies in a time of gloom

on surfaces that shudder to the touch

let me not go blind to them

though they may be false prophets

let me indulge them

though sloth hangs heavy on it’s threads

 my fingers are lazy

as repentant soldiers that limp slowly

imparting  messages from brain to drain, HQ to sump

and dump everything around the curvature

of the earth

raggedly denying  the cold

that fringe of utterly knowing

and not knowing

the blessed rim, the circumference

of hope

Park life

The truffle season begins..

 

 

a flare of green in the distance

from a high-viz jacket across the park

the smell of cattle, somehow sweet, carried like a vesper on

the air

and on the path a mushroom sprouts amongst the fallen leaves

all of these are clues to change

now that summer must relinquish its warmth

to the broad shoulders of another season

and we, the passengers, would do well

to witness the changing mood and prepare

for the light to cede it’s power, those lumens,

on shortening days when the sun’s grace is

merely a blown kiss and an ache that lingers

in sweet nothings

I take it in and hope to capture

some of it, some essence, to carry forward to the next time

and the next time

forever greedy for this gift of knowing

that I am small

Crow

Crow. Pic for poem

 

oblivious black. a rag on a branch

and nonchalant at height

he knows the fall won’t kill him

for his wings will intervene and flap at the air

and make the lightness of being a natural thing

such ignorance, as I impute

is actually magnificent

implacable. mute. absorbed

it is only me who is troubled

so what if he wears black

My wife

My wife. pic for poem

 

she lies naked on the bedroom floor

doing  yoga poses, utterly exposed

these are the moments I like best

one leg drawn into the waist

a scissor of flesh in soft light

the darker shape of body hair obscured

an ineluctable triangle of mute desire

and we talk and share this shared space

this one, of many, moments that accrue

to form a comfortable bond. a union of trust

then I will go and do something quite mundane, like

clean my teeth or make a cup of tea

as she unfurls in blind nakedness to stretch

into another pose that readies her for the day

that we go toward, together, as innocents

Theatre

Casa Batillo, Barcelona

 

a silhouette misty cut

in darkness out of light

on a shelf is night

 

from the flat body

with holding dreams

eyes see

 

and no star

is a vision

but the diamond black

 

where pinkness

pervades my window panes

making chilly contours

 

how the evening red

reminds

night can hold fire