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

South Milton Beach

South Milton Beach. pic

 

the water

on course to spill

drives head-long seaward

following yearnings of the moon

on vectors that cannot be ignored

rolling stones and pebbles in a forensic rush

to clean, to erase all traces

of where they have been

so each mystery is pristine

lost in spray – the wind

gives them alibis

and they go, all of them

like turtles to the maw

of the open sea

that pretends to be    gentle

though it has the power over night and day

and I walk amongst the day trippers

tourists on familiar soil yet eager

to be away

from home

New day

New day. pic for poem.jpg

 

dried aromatic fruit in a bowl,

listlessly emits a fragrance

it’s yellow lemon slices lay down and serve

a purpose, throwing us off the scent

of household smells, the settling of history into fabrics

into carpets coated with the travellings of family life

the pets and children, friends and villains that

transmit the dirt and odours of the everyday

and I sit here with it’s feint smell

and wonder if it helps

 

I am naked and waiting for the day

to unfold

should I wait? should I press play?

will this not be like any other day

such quandaries are defining moments as I drift in space

the small and incidental bits most easily forgotten

become a personal history

My aim?

for it not to turn to grief. to potpourri.

one bright moment of hope

one bright moment of hope. pic

 

each horizon, each moment spent

a salt water kiss, another spasm riding

into the next and this fraction is all of me

my orange cup, the bubbles on the meniscus

of cooling tea

a plane droning overhead

vacuuming the air for the dust

of our ordinary lives and leaving

grounded specks and motes, dazzling

in air shot through with brilliant light as if

our dreams could be kept in quarantine

then released again in another place

refreshed from tedium and ushered into a stalled excitement

that would last, for once

before the signature of loss was dry

El Colido ( Special Selection )

El Colido. pic

 

Del Coronas were the original inhabitants

of this nondescript wooden box

that sits mute on the table before me

a found object and within

the paraphernalia of reward for a serving man

medals, buttons, ribbons and bars

glowing in an incongruous melange

of untidy history

the man, my father,  has long since passed away

honoured now by scraps of metal

dim memories and a surname

that carries the line

so I wonder;

will I be found in a box

that once conveyed an expensive aroma

of unlit sticks, dull stones and bones

impassive but portentous

of what once was.