Old photograph

Old photograph. pic-001

 

curling as it dries

on the mantelpiece

a resurrection  of our bonds

with tear drops frozen in amber light

as the day closes around everything

I cannot lose

That photograph, a tied knot, endures

as we age and I reminisce

being lured into our shared past

by casual nostalgia

and a fondness for the look in their eyes

 

All this today we share,

built around the ambition to survive,

so now we erect monuments on shelves in our home

in praise of relics,

those souvenirs of love and loss

that betray us as creatures of faith

How bittersweet it is to acknowledge

that all of it is slipping away

unashamedly facing us but somehow,

if I view it right,

complicit in a kind way

that will allow me eventually

to simply surrender and fade away

When does joy begin?

when does joy begin. pic

 

in the holding back and not

trying to find nostalgia,

no false memories will serve,

for truth has splinters stuck fast

in the veneer that coats all our recollections

and fragments in the lode threaten to discharge

unreliable soldiers in some other version you once knew

so history in the human mind is geography

the topography in a spatial sense of where we have been

so easily confused in the transmission

of the personal, the private, the hidden and unexplained

and all of those constituents that form

our wonky DNA

A bright morning, fresh start, ensconced in glass

my vision, my blood and the fading of history to a tepid mush

raise questions of

where joy has been

and did it ever come

because I can’t remake a wish

nor go to visit vanishment

but would it be far- fetched to hope, to be in place

if ever joy were to commence.

heartfelt. again

heartfelt. again

 

your message was lost

and found. in a puddle

the words you wrote now weep

 

that casual transition

from the heart

became a declaration in the dirt

 

do you know

it means more to me now

forlorn but found

 

because it is blessed

by providence and truth

it survives the wound

 

curling as it dries

on the mantelpiece

a resurrection of our bonds

 

the tear drops frozen in amber light

as the day closes around

everything I cannot lose

fractions

Big window

 

at a fallen moment

I stop

to wonder where

that fraction went

before it came to rest

which brings me to

serendipity

and what I understand of that

how the obvious will stare

straight at me in its naked state

unashamed and proud to bare

a gift, a threat

a thought to dare

that might expose me for what I am

and leave me aghast

staring at solid air

and another chance at risk

to be still and accentuate the moment

and  drown

in you

New day

New day. pic for poem.jpg

 

dried aromatic fruit in a bowl,

listlessly emits a fragrance

it’s yellow lemon slices lay down and serve

a purpose, throwing us off the scent

of household smells, the settling of history into fabrics

into carpets coated with the travellings of family life

the pets and children, friends and villains that

transmit the dirt and odours of the everyday

and I sit here with it’s feint smell

and wonder if it helps

 

I am naked and waiting for the day

to unfold

should I wait? should I press play?

will this not be like any other day

such quandaries are defining moments as I drift in space

the small and incidental bits most easily forgotten

become a personal history

My aim?

for it not to turn to grief. to potpourri.

a yard of earth

a yard of earth. pic

 

the buried thoughts lie there

extensions of the temporal world

it’s graven images and dogs bones, forever

begging to rest

 

where amen lies down

for the solitary preacher

wasting eternal penance

and breathing through the soil

remembering, always in remembrance

 

until all the midnight journeys and

changing worlds beyond the next

become sameness,  returned

to a life that is spoken

in chants