Seconds out..

Seconds out.. pic for poem

 

 

there is a melting sadness in this process

of time slipping away, unberthing me

and slowly, inexorably, bleeding me of life

by small instants, lost moments and carelessness

 

no matter how diligent I am to stem the flow

the seconds count against me and the ring-man with his towel

and imprecations

are lost in the cries of a crowd that bays for yet more blood

 

deaf, dumb and blind to my predicament

their spittle and urgent desire require a sacrifice

to transcend the moment, dispel the ordinary

and suffer only gods to weep

 

and perhaps I glimpse the beauty in this savagery

of defeat

that this moment holds all of me

every damned thing, mine, to give away in this circle of

diminishing light

Shut eye

Shut eye. pic

 

I am not charmed by the mocking essence

in my dreams

how they tear the lids from the innocent viscosity

of my eyes

and wake me with words that appear to be squeezed

through an aperture of hope that was obviously closed down

aeons ago

is it shame?

is it grief?

that so much loss should pine in my waking head and

churn about and be perplexed by loss and hurt that will

it seems

forever dance in a sensual act of disentanglement

so I languish in this morbid state and hope

for a cessation of the wagging fingers that follow me

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

.. to take a leap of faith

Boys at play

 

beyond

imagine it. just beyond

the fledgling on a ledge

deep space beyond and more

that miasma of fear which constricts

every tissue and fibre and

unknowable thing

from taking a leap of faith

 

brother, sister, mother, father, friend

watch over me for I am one

who knows how it feels to stall mid-flight

at that precipice

and court the most unholy thoughts

to allow any manner of darkness in

but in my heart and in my soul

I know I am here because

the ones before me took that leap

they loved me

and I will honour them

These Rooms

These room. photograph

breathe honesty through pain

assemble despite craving

and are drawn to communicate

with a fierce resolve

that bares it’s face

to sinews and contours laid bare

in past shame. self pity. arrogance.

shyness hides deception

in that mask which enables carnage

and yet each day

new recruits file in

and face cracked mirrors

in humble places

that ask only for truth

and bear witness, sometimes

to a craving

for redemption

for love and peace

that lies bleeding and torn

in memories that stink.

These rooms offer

an unassuming refuge

for bodies and minds

that are willing.

Castaway

Castaway

I am sat

stark naked on a sunday morning

reviewing the dark past,

and stewing

with those tangled, escaping memories

over my part in all of that.

And on a blank sheet of paper,

white, beside me, waiting, innocent,

a pubic hair.

Insouciant. Detached from me

lazing absently

Laughing at incongruity.

bye bye man

bye bye man

under a black felt brim

eyes dark with a candour

that have seen all manner of things

wonder whether they should plead

for clemency or a piece of that notion

that compassion will cure all ills

for in that stare so many fires

have withered on coals

raked over and left cooling till

soft grey ash is swept up on murmurs of

casual air

those whispered endearments

and promises that sustain a heart

that wishes to pump more

than just blood

around the ache of desire

He knows in there

there is no room for mercy

for justice will be implacable

His day is up

and so

under that felt overhang

he has already gone