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

Theatre

Casa Batillo, Barcelona

 

a silhouette misty cut

in darkness out of light

on a shelf is night

 

from the flat body

with holding dreams

eyes see

 

and no star

is a vision

but the diamond black

 

where pinkness

pervades my window panes

making chilly contours

 

how the evening red

reminds

night can hold fire

Black-out

Black-out

 

A desultory breeze leeched away the years

frenziedly, epically careless

tearing at the surface of life

so that parts are now barren

lost to other continents

my silt accreting on roof tops and cars

annoying strangers – raising ire

where once my life force was being spent

 

Looking back I sense black holes

whole episodes of the theatre of me

vanished behind the dark fabric of denial

and wonder if the other players

still carry vestiges, my fragments

or if history has taken them to heaven

where in another phase

we shall meet again

Mixed Doubles

Face Off

Mixed Doubles

 

I take pictures. It’s what I do. Then they sit with me. A living history. Fragments of time I have consumed, shared and stolen. It is a privilege to have these moments at my command. I don’t wish to waste or abuse them. The element of trust is implicit. I honour these people because they have shared a stage with me. These are fractions, splinters of innocence.