A to Z

a to z. pic

 

leaves lay down on the path

their colours gone quiet, like mourners

and wait

for yet another foot to fall

to make an impression and leave

the cold trace of a dog or it’s masters progress

and out of the blue church bells chime

at ten past ten precisely, a descant

peeling off memories from the surface

of the still air that withholds all it can of last year

I am, it seems, stuck in a pause and waiting

for time itself to acquiesce and loosen up

to free me from my own mystifying history

and this harbour of threadbare dreams where

leaves lay down on the path

from a distance

from a distance. pic for poem

 

a never ending song sits with me

in moments of passing

shedding fractions that will never return

like an aurora in the window of my soul

whose evocations of impermanence

are hazy, as a memory lost

in the litany of moments I regard as treasures

buried deep in the recesses and shadows

of places where I have been

and so my past, a growing thing

is littered with the lost colonies

of fleeting fame

when I was king

harvesting bright experience

from the luxury of a lost responsibility

so far from home

Lost in transit

Lost in transit.pic.poem

 

so many fractions of loss accrete

on the wind-blown traces of a meteor

it’s history

a wide girth of spectral dust

shimmering as isotopes that cling to the life

 of one challenged molecule

looking back at the wide beyond and

spell-bound by the beauty it travelled through,

confused,  resentful that

all those points of light were careless

and let him through

condemned  to shadow play and scraps

when bright lights gleamed on other, chosen, skins

not his,

so the incidents of memory

come back and douse what remains of the view

with that dismal feeling the pilot knows as he cranes

to catch sight of what went on

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.

hook, line and thinker………..

hook-line-and-thinker-image-for-poem

A fish landed

out of sorts

and complained bitterly

for the lack of salt

and went on to deride the fisherman

for his clumsy boots

the cracked and melting ice

all the noise on the harbour side,

“for goodness sake, couldn’t you just reel me in?

Have some sport? Instead you come

riding the waves and suck me in

to a harvest of woe

and this indignity. To die

in plain sight in front of a man in white

who puts a price on me

and then, cold eyed, moves on

to appraise the rest of us.

If I could I would put a curse on you”

Later, over sweet tea the fisherman

quite satisfied, said to his wife

“it was a fine catch today”

All about it

all-about-it-pic

A drab, slate grey pall

is drawn across the park

and further for all I know

perhaps even to Uzbekistan

wherever that may be

My dog and I simply walk

a familiar circuit on wet grass

past dead or dying vegetation

surrendered to the season

Dull markers below that impassive sky

In all of this I try

to extract a sense of beauty

out of blind optimism

A duty to the light

that struggles to excite my humanity

That indentured quality we know

in service to respectability

The socks and ties, pressed shirts

and fear of the face on time

are all stitched into the blanket overhead

And back home for tea

Silent rain becomes insistent

watchful for the pores

of vulnerable fabric that will allow

the damp curse to pervade

A lesson in the shaking dog

how violently she dispels

the cloying elements from her coat

eats the proffered food

and slumps down vacantly to sleep.