Kalami Bay. Corfu.

The White House

 

Half a moon rising over my left shoulder. The sound of water lapping in the bay. Murmurs of tyres on the winding roads and children’s voices rising softly from a distance come in and out of play. Otherwise it is peaceful. Yellow and orange lights form tapers in the water. It is a mood I am comfortable in.

Downfall

Downfall. pic

 

yesterday the drive was a dustbowl

throwing up swirls of fine dirt in skittish air

then overnight I woke to the sounds

of wet soldiers feet marching a tattoo

on glass and brick and stamping on the very earth

that had so recently been raised in mutiny

hot light shrieked and tore at the curtains

followed by the portentous roll of the wall of sound

clouds make as they collide, a herald for

the teeming mass of tears unleashed in war

as I lay in dry, warm peace, a double glazed

window pane away from the fray

harboured in sheets that would comfort me

until the dawn could rise and reveal

what happened without and beyond  my complacency

Yes, the soil turned by dervishes will now be tame

and the once arid landscape is now lush

in honour of the gods of the night just gone

so I look out now on a grateful scene with leaves and shoots

roots and greening grass replete

all sated by conflicts the elements dictated

now gone, moved on by angels and their laments

for casualties and needless deaths

forgetful,

 the weather marches on precipitating yet more dreams

If only war were so benign.

Slide and Seek

austrian-tirol-for-poem

 

A cold line of crooked teeth

against the blue horizon

are capped-white enigma’s

Remainders of a broken jaw

woven into a map

 

Striated flank of mountain range

Game to conquer. Level with?

So, hoisted on cables that strain toward heaven

a wind screeching to howl

amongst the twisted metal, a filigree in rare air

 

We, romantic gods go offering

praise on soft white loins

bared below nominated peaks

then gondolas disgorge swaddled beings

on sticks, to conquer half tamed swathes of mountain side

 

A world inverted, beyond vanity

it’s snow raked by wind and tides of moon

the pliant mountain flesh is strafed by

chromosomes and hieroglyphs

garish

pulsating on selfish whims and adrenalin

 

Until natural forces take her back

and offer up another view.

By the Bye

 

 by-the-bye

The sky vibrates. It’s colour’s stretched

on winds that make

space

elastic

 

Tourists fly in capsules

enacting the selfish irony of leisure

that travel somehow

broadens the mind

 

We brag with foreign trophies

that our lives are full

and meaningful. Blind perhaps that we are

the forebears of extinction

 

Those silver fish that glint

high in super-cooled blue air

we glimpse with the gift of gravity

are shards of conscience. Pin pricks in flight

 

Our borrowed time is the inheritance

of us. Our genes. Our simple proclivity

to see only what’s in the frame

To stall in ignorance. The complicity of fate.

Leonard Cohen

 

leonard-cohen-a-tribute

 

 

Those gifts were not

from a solemn man

‘ You want it darker’

was a parting salvo

to those of us who loved ,

his words

and will forever be in tune

with a man who mastered melancholy

and exists now beyond the grasp

of anything that could hold him down.

He leaves within me the residue

of a man I never met but feel

I knew

He leaves me lighter

He blessed my soul

So long

You have not gone

Take this morning

Morning shot.jpg

A crow, darkly black, sits

on the red, rigid beam

of a child’s playground ride

A herald to rise

on a spell

mixing colour in the air

Sleek form glimpsed in a dazzle of blue

from the sheen on those wings

stealing away

Leaving static the surrendered plaything

for a mother to push

later in the day