Crows feet

Crows feet

 

a bird lays a line against

the blue or grey circumference of doubt

for the sky, it’s sheets draw inexorably

toward the night

and that absence of light

that pulls a curtain on the day

Deep space will offer it’s dome

to those of us who oblige the moon

obeying rituals and cycles

we have come to know

amid those rumours of your day

that heaven steers toward the pillow

The waking dreams will flap

 like washing on a line

hoping to succumb

 to tenderness

in the still and calm of sleep

In that orbit of the resting eye

the universe is brave, unbounded

by superstition

until the day intrudes again

to support some foolish notion of flight.

Writers pique

Writers pique. Photograph.jpg

 

Rejection

and now I am eager to explore

The new. The re-invented.

For that seems to be the future

of where the prizes are.

The fashion now, and it is only NOW

has wrong-footed me.

My words undone, untied or ridiculed

for being out of date.

And so I reverberate

catch-up and perform somersaults

in order to be admired.

How tiring.

A vain pursuit. Smudged face

in a remorseless mirror.

Grow up you fool

don’t remonstrate.

The others have the accolades.

I have the Angel’s share.

Never did

never-did

I never had authority, a uniform

so now, as age advances

and men in suits strut and utter

incoherent commands

I am more, not less confused

Their balance sheets and due diligence

find me straggling in a long column

of easily forgotten figures

wrapped in the inconvenient flag of conscience

But in that too there lacks an impetus

that will to fight has gone

and with it any hope

for the spoils of victory

The swagger of the coming man has gone

like a moon shadow

that softest of forms recedes

ambiguous in departure

from the territories of man and boy

going quietly to a greater dark

Boundaries

Frontier.jpg

A fingerprint of light

nestles in the shadows between cracks

of the slats of wood that mark

A boundary. The marker of territory

And into that imposter, that insouciant glow

alights a butterfly. All white

A peace envoy

Settling for an instant in that pool

before leaving like a ghost

into the alphabet of space

around that zone

And away again unknowingly

into some imagined intolerance

all the while oblivious

Content to carry

that white flag flapping

in perpetual hope.

Bang

 

There is no other

The time is now

This scratchy moment

Only partially perceived

This unwilling partner

So entwined

Is mine and mine alone

This black & white photograph

Is history already

Yet her smile and hope

Are younger than me

Forever will be

That fraction has gone

Just part of the chorus

A chime that sighs

Knowing that loss

Is cold cuts we can’t keep

The ache of love

As it waves goodbye

Gently peeling

Out of reach