Inheritance

Inheritance. pic for poem

 

and so they throw stones

the disadvantaged ones

with one less letter to atone for loss

venting with spleen, milk-shakes and votes

or worse in some cases – battery acid

as the temperature rises in this moment of  time

we are it seems ” gathered here today”

though not harmoniously, not like a congregation

we are disparate and seeking

vocal yet inchoate

the fault lines more evident as time presses

the beauty pageant for votes more desperate

we who pride ourselves on democracy, we sophisticates

as if we were

solid citizens with a mature sense of history

yet we equivocate and murmur, disseminate untruths

pitching for a purpose on the greasy pole and forget

so much of this has gone before and always

in the aftermath – mistakes will glow

are we bigots, ingrates or xenophobes

on this small island so tightly packed?

one and all will  be stained by this moment in time

but those that seek power will be remembered

as trace elements of the fire – furore – uroar

and be gone

Inca’s, temples and ruins

Inca's, temples and ruins. pic

 

the sun sweats it’s golden harvest

showering gifts and glistening just as

the ancients worshiped with their beliefs

shaped by pearls that were tears of the moon

come down like mercury to measure and reward  faith

 gods and idols worked so hard to stretch out into space

yet for all they knew the earth was flat

and now

we do the same but we have invented a vacuum

a spinning-top

moving fast and making danger commonplace

so now we face a holocaust in which

all that knowledge may go to waste

and all the dreams go dark

Pearls

Pearls . pic for poem

 

I want to speak of miracles

enunciate my awe  at modern things

and give thanks on this bright day

that I am present  to behold

the gifts that shower me

day in day out  but

not seem fey, too abstractly thoughtful  or naive

it’s just that looking out of the bedroom window

I see our neighbour basking in the sun

a misshapen homage to beauty  with his beer gut

his paean to gods and mercies

quite evident in the pose

the shrubs, the seedlings and all that nascent growth

almost showing beneath his feet, his hopeful yards long stare

and I am struck by how much we have in common

and not

how we differ, on the edges, in the beds

in matters of colour or politics, his children at private schools

with hopes for higher things

but we are just morsels – innocents in the food-chain

as that Thrush on the lawn teases out a long fat worm

and a Robin inflates his or her breast in warning

the birdsong reverberates with sweet nostalgia

I must soldier on  just one day farther

in the rain

cold cuts

Colc cuts. pic

 

you vet my bile                                                       you see it coming

                                                                                because you are guilty

 

with taut phrases

learnt by rote and experience                                  you gloat and preen

                                                                                 with no false modesty

to put me down and deny

me of coherence

of a challenge                                                           in my naivety

 

Unfairly

you squirt corrosive phlegm

and here I am now, years hence

still smarting

still wiping with passionate indifference

at the hurt on my face

 

and those around me live

in their scar-tissue

and would intrude if they could

upon my own but I have made myself immune

as damaged DNA in an unravelling helix                 I never loved you

                                                                                   your last words

and of course I live on

with echoes and pain                                                 you win.

Simmering

Simmering

 

a white rag rides on the wind

flip flopping on the urgent breath

that rasps against roofs and eaves

as it complains against closed spaces

 

beneath all this I sit and stew

a quiet thing, compressed

alone in the vessel of my separateness

acquiring a taste for solitude

 

and gaze with growing detachment

at the scrap of white as it waves

with a careless detachment outside

receding into an unknowable distance

Take this morning

Take this morning.pic

 

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