bye bye man

bye bye man

under a black felt brim

eyes dark with a candour

that have seen all manner of things

wonder whether they should plead

for clemency or a piece of that notion

that compassion will cure all ills

for in that stare so many fires

have withered on coals

raked over and left cooling till

soft grey ash is swept up on murmurs of

casual air

those whispered endearments

and promises that sustain a heart

that wishes to pump more

than just blood

around the ache of desire

He knows in there

there is no room for mercy

for justice will be implacable

His day is up

and so

under that felt overhang

he has already gone

Damn

damn

I see my grey hair in pictures with the family

and realise that I am already passing

into history

How long will it be until the smile fades to ash

and colours in the inks lose their vitality

Can that frame hold fast and keep the memory

or will indifference and fashion

make it hasten into a lost obscurity

Will it all by-pass photo-shop

with it’s technical brilliance,

the mastered pixel rendered and held

for heaven to view in the cloud

Perhaps I am destined to inhabit

the space that the picture frame

purports to keep in an enigmatic perpetuity.

Too many ‘I’s

too-many-is-pic

I was recently offered a seat on a tube

by a young woman with compassion in her heart,

no doubt

but my pride interpreted that as spite

and I refused

left hanging on a strap in mortal decline

and ever since, the scene, it’s implications

re-spooled

play back to me in a quiet yet insistent fugue

You vain ‘old’ fool is the sound-track

following me

trapped words in the carriage of my spoiled journey

A constant rattle and schism as I go about forgetting

that age has put his drape on me

that my vital signs are more evident

to others than to the being I recognize

I can no longer refer to myself in the third person,

casual, flippant or heroic

not now that I am transparent

at large in someone else’s order of magnitude.

I shall stand until I am forced

through stages

to lie down.

Deep Space

poem-deep-space

on into endless blue

 into the cold configuration of misery

he explores the scope of space

not daring to imagine there are sides

or anything, that may signify limits

for there are none

when the black dog licks his wounds

and basks in the enduring certainty of despair

The dreamer blinks

all dreams dashed before

he reaches the farther shore

stuck between rocks

in a paradox

that hardest of places

from whence he stares

and goes blind again, in hope

There is a fool on the coast

who whistles and coos

endangering the silence

and distracting the fractions of light

that emit so faintly from far, far away

but lay like silver threads

tendrils that pulse with forgotten time

and offer the kindness of an enduring hope

Good Morning

Good Morning poem..jpg

A gift of flowers

Plants packed, their petals exposed

A display of demure generosity

Lingers in gratitude

and leaves that kindest of stains

Thanks for a time shared

When no boundaries were broken

No favours asked

Just the interplay of friendship

And a hope that it may last

Outside, bright sunshine

like some heavenly tongue

has drenched the scene

With natural beauty

And in the windless quiet

each still particle proclaims

a pride in its place

And there is no doubt

No fear that judgement will be made

to sully or scar

each stitched particle

of this tableau

How wonderful

Our garden beams

in the lick of a dew.

I ask you!

I ask you!

I ask you!

Words stall

Splutter. Sprawl

Like puppy dogs

And things that crawl

Go lightly

Go dark

Tinker with guilt

Go for walks in the park

I have a drawer

Stuffed full of them

A wriggling shower

All prone to mayhem

And can I tame them?

Hell no

They are gone. Pro Tem

Hello. I call. Hello

I sometimes ask for the menu

The weegee board of reason

In order to get a view

And they answer with treason

Vexatious as ever

Characters designed to play

Bit parts that deliver

Things I should not say.