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

Make my day

Make my day. pic

 

you’re going to see sense

going to break

like a favourite flavour

on your face

you’re going to crease

and show some teeth

that serious side you’ve got

on display

has been there for years man

you’ve got dust

filling the cracks

and eye’s man, they’re tired

get some shine

on that fascia

make it easy for me man

SMILE

A cup of tea ( will settle it)

a cup of tea

 

I salute the deep swells

of an ocean that rolls

it’s hunger audible, sucking, heaving

a breath, then the rasp of shingle

dragged across the palate

that moment of calm, when

I imagine the stomach is full

satiated

before another lunge below the moon

announces gravity will not wait

and sailors bob on waves

duty bound, flung in a dance

a flamenco of spray and romance

and me

so far in land that this

may or may not be happening

but it matters not

because to me it’s all

a cup of tea

scraps

scraps. pic

 

as we speak

we cling

like partners in a dance

to our very own

alphabet

drawn tight by desire

and we would if we could

make a frieze of the trick

that is language

 

the swollen air we launch

in speech

is full of gifts

and on reflection it is sad

that so many are returned unheard

in the transmission of loss

that only time

in its wise fractions

can attest

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