we are stalled

 

we are stalled. pic for poem

as we look for change

that would not blight the small things

those things that are peripheral

like coins that fail to amount to much and disappoint

as lust does in the youth who is still unacquainted with success

in life and love and patience

so we think of puberty and how that changes us

and so on for the sake of it

the leitmotif, tra la, of life

ever in the swell of a slow rolling sea

captives of change where memories and dreams

are fine dust, the diaspora of Angels cast-offs as we

the unbelievers

run in frozen time away from Pompeii

away from the blindness that just won’t go away

The anatomy of moments (the first)

Tne anatomy of moments

 

stars, the shards of a shattered universe

cry, tear drops on a canvas of dreams

we shall never inhabit for they are

just echoes of a time long dead

 

it is all I have

and I have known love

but it is still a gaping

sense of loss

 

my mother’s endless encouragement

a vapour now that she has gone

my wit, my charm, my accomplishments

just crumbs on a well worn floor

 

my love of poetry

an idolatry for the patterns words weave

is always moderated by an X-Ray

that filters through me

 

looking for scar tissue and wounds

that might build a case

for a better model

more robust in the ways of the world

 

but these moments are

refugees in a crisis of confidence

bound in nightmares to roam

in uncertainty

 

programmed to return

wanton with a savage lust

to rent and sunder

where sunlight would prefer to rest.

False premise

Time passenger

Not bitter.  Not Gone

Not Resting In Peace

Not wasted. Not forgotten

Not lost in space

The atoms I carry

Their candour. Their ignorance

Tick Box. Tick Box

Seconds out

The regimen of folding a tie. Compliance

All but forgotten now. I know

Sun dance on jewelled water

Beauty broken by complaisance

The drip away of time

Until the flood

And then the view. Obsolete

A spoil. A wasteland. A derision

I am coming to claim

My false inheritance. My legacy

Please locksmith

Cut me that key

Prepare the plaque. A eulogy

Before I am gone

Dead Zone

Dead Zone.jpg

Old bones in the morning ache

like cogs and wheels accumulating

rust from a cloying atmosphere

Decrepitude. It mocks

But I sense in this calling of time

a humour that goes with the warning

I can languish in the arrested zone

and take stock

starring in some delicious dreams

so real that heaven has surely come

and wrapped me in a welcome blanket

So here, between the light and dark

I am a novice

ready to go lightly and laugh

at the tolling of last orders.

Ladies and Gentlemen. Please.

Wet wednesday

Wet wednesday

Wet wednesday

 

On the edge of dismal

Insistent fugue of rain-drops

On glass that stares at the grey beyond

And something in me says,

‘this is not so bad’

Because, the closing-in

Can be satisfying

Can be a call to arms

A re-ordering of energy

 

 

Still it rains

And I am somehow appraised of ‘small’

Of how this feeling of being condensed

Is comforting. I am safe

Of how lucky I am to be locked-in

To all of this

This symmetry around a void

Where gratitude seeps in

And the water does not stain.

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

 

Sobering to think

Each second

Each instant

Is loaded

 

We only need

To harvest

Potential

To ignite a spark

 

‘Only’ is preposterous

We angle at

A magic trick

The sleek back of a bullet

 

And somehow

In that ‘seized moment’

We are aligned

Past and future present

 

A marvellous particle

Immaculate on the back

Of fusion

And so we come and go

Skin

Skin

Skin 

We fashion beauty. We aesthetes

We are Olympians of taste

And make no mistake, when the money is good

No expense could be too crude

For the aristocrat of the senses

Whose pockets flap

Will exploit loose change to buy exotic metal

Shaped vehicles that are extreme

To sit proudly as ornaments of success

And that ‘trophy beauty’

The ultimate prize

Can be embraced, paraded and caged

For others to ogle and envy

But, there is one thing that spoils

And over time

Even expensive treatments will fail

When honesty is lost

And foundations slip

Even taught, sculpted lines will err,

Faults and fissures creep

And the mask?

Well it will speak