Damage in transit

 

Damage in transit.pic for poem

 I live on the border of reason

often struggling not to disappear

from the frontiers of hope that sometimes

seem so far away

 

There are days when the emotional weather

is close to overwhelming

and sand bags around the senses

are in danger of a breach

 

Then life becomes so tiring

because, by any measure

especially those that I impose

everything falls short

 

and I am left in the claw of dismal

a tightening fist that excludes

light and hope

that lingers in the gaolers stare

 

For moments like these

are death

as I reluctantly wear the symbols of life

Why do I bear this grudge?

 

Why am I so famished

so torn

bereft

a living. Dying thing.

Pearls

Pearls . pic for poem

 

I want to speak of miracles

enunciate my awe  at modern things

and give thanks on this bright day

that I am present  to behold

the gifts that shower me

day in day out  but

not seem fey, too abstractly thoughtful  or naive

it’s just that looking out of the bedroom window

I see our neighbour basking in the sun

a misshapen homage to beauty  with his beer gut

his paean to gods and mercies

quite evident in the pose

the shrubs, the seedlings and all that nascent growth

almost showing beneath his feet, his hopeful yards long stare

and I am struck by how much we have in common

and not

how we differ, on the edges, in the beds

in matters of colour or politics, his children at private schools

with hopes for higher things

but we are just morsels – innocents in the food-chain

as that Thrush on the lawn teases out a long fat worm

and a Robin inflates his or her breast in warning

the birdsong reverberates with sweet nostalgia

I must soldier on  just one day farther

in the rain

Looking for tense

looking for tense. pic

 

I sit on the fringes and think

that’s my problem

I try too hard

 

all the letters dance untamed

taunting me, as a Lion resists

it’s tamer

 

and in this circus of wills

under the dome and ropes

of a tent that exaggerates

 

each small loss of authority

until I am left spitting

uncouth fragments of the alphabet

 

at the mighty beast

I have imagined as a metaphor

in this ring of despair

Many happy returns

Watch face.jpg

 

last night a shower of beer rained down

over Bristol, London, Birmingham and far beyond

or at least that’s what I saw on the news

and out-performed any rainfall we have had for months

in a raucous tumult of emotion that echoed

the Roar of 66′

this morning, gingerly

blue skies are the blessing that meets

 those bleary eyes and broken hearts

that dared to dream and over-step the mark but

the grass will celebrate in the sweet ooze that was thrown away

and rise again

 so come home

young men and rub shoulders amongst your kith and kin

and know that we have shared your time abroad

been brought to our knees with you

so close, as ever, to that fervent wish.

Dry spell

Dry Spell. For poem.

Soft brush of rain on glass overhead

the fall of notes punctuating this space below

A mood evoked

I surrender to the gradient of sounds sent down

from somewhere in the sky

and wallow in the melody

of a siren song

Will I venture out into the physicality

of precipitation

or immerse myself in the comfort

of discomfort kept at bay

These small margins of progress are the order

of my day

How good it is to live in luxury

ROOM

ROOM

ROOM

 

Smudges around

Scared eyes

Betray the fear

That inhabits the one

Who sits in a shared space

And waits

For the show to gather pace

 

Voices raised

Share real and imagined pain

In the room

Where the past resides

In torn parcels

Willing to rend

To sympathy and hope

 

Who knows

Where those eyes go

When the show melts away

To comfort

To further pain

Will fingers wipe

Away the hurt

For eyes

For eyes

For eyes

 

I am witness. I am life.

Hunter. Gatherer.

Your very own all-action heroes

Two messengers to high command

That you exist in time and space

I am sight

 

I crease. I fade

I am another’s witness

For often I am truth

And I mutely signal

Distress or desire

However they are dressed

 

I am the arbiter of the light

You receive

Your watchman. A sentry

That hint for a smile

That mirror to shame

I am yours I presume.