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

For Daf

For Daf

 

the clematis climbs in a hug

around the bushes and shrubs

and rises in a triumph around a conifer

like applause

A curtain call for this morning

while twin jet engines grind the air

on an ascending scale away from Heathrow

with a vow toward wherever it is they are promised

but down here, in our garden, I feel no resentment

not for the noise nor for those high flying dreams

because I am bound in this sumptuous scene

happy in May sunshine with cool air

on my naked skin,  newly cut grass glistening in the dew

and nothing much else to do

except perhaps to plant a kiss

on the cheek of a favoured friend

who has picked today, of all days

to celebrate

Half truths

Half truths

Reach in, to the shadows that entice

All manner of feelings

Reflections of vice

These quiet moments float

In consciousness. Semblances

Of shadows that glance

The nerve endings of truth

An early morning walk

In mist that shrouds

Familiar paths with mystery

Evoking spirits from the past

Softly rolling their last breaths’

Like handkerchiefs,

on thermals of grief

Yet the blankets

In their viscous warmth, pull me

 back to comfort

Into the mist

An ineluctable embrace

Of what has been

This tolerable dream

5.1.16

5.1

A feeble mist hangs subservient

Beneath the blanched winter sky

And under foot grass gamely springs

Through soil that is soaked

Partial it seems to any impression

The indent of feet. Tyre tracks

All casual traffic etched in frosted dew.

Beyond the line of trees

I hear the pullulating rumble

Of a motorway carrying earnest people

On their high missions

All of us oblivious to these vivid truths

The simple things we forget

Because they are casual

The loose change of the everyday

That slips through the lining and seams

Beyond physical constraints

But I am minded to interpret this

As time passing ( as it does)

That half perceived commodity

Before the lights go down.

Moments

 

 

MomentsMoments

I send out daily bites
As nourishment for souls
Unbidden
Is this generosity?
Sharp insights that come from moments
Freshly squeezed. The sap of thoughts
That flounder if they are not transmitted

Throwing out the fishes and loaves
Displacement of all that is mine
Just moments. All that I have
Are they gifts?
These little things mean a lot to me
Harboured as they are in neutrality
Go children for it pleases me to watch

Discharged. My atomic vanity
Simpers. Hoping for traction
Wishing above all to be absorbed
Is this guilt?
For the smallness that haunts
Can taunt in an ironic way
Because I know too much about irrelevance