At the bar

 

 

My old bones in the morning ache

like cogs and wheels accumulating

rust from a cloying atmosphere.

Decrepitude. It mocks.

But I sense in this calling of time

a humour that goes with the warning

so I can languish in the arrested zone

and take stock

by starring in some delicious dreams

so real that heaven has surely come

and wrapped me in a welcome blanket.

So here, between the light and dark,

the mild and bitters,

I am a novice.

Ready to go lightly and laugh

at the tolling of last orders.

Ladies and Gentlemen. Time Please.

Ego a Go Go

Ego a Go Go

 

I am the morsel

A chatter box, blah blah

I’ll have a laugh

Forget the past

Those days that are now in ruins

 

And tears still run

Still come to visit

At times that are not appropriate

They are just calling cards

Markers of doused flames

 

And now the mist lays down

When birdsong punctuates

Silence and blank thoughts

Which are pre-cursors

To another day in flight

False premise

Time passenger

Not bitter.  Not Gone

Not Resting In Peace

Not wasted. Not forgotten

Not lost in space

The atoms I carry

Their candour. Their ignorance

Tick Box. Tick Box

Seconds out

The regimen of folding a tie. Compliance

All but forgotten now. I know

Sun dance on jewelled water

Beauty broken by complaisance

The drip away of time

Until the flood

And then the view. Obsolete

A spoil. A wasteland. A derision

I am coming to claim

My false inheritance. My legacy

Please locksmith

Cut me that key

Prepare the plaque. A eulogy

Before I am gone

patient

Patient

like an atom adrift

in this vast body of parts

failing somehow

and all gathered because

one clock was an hour behind

another advanced by the same amount

‘nil by mouth’

time becomes obstinate

a mocking chant

not that of monks

no abeyance to humility

because the institution grinds away

at those within

with a remorseless appetite

habitually uncouth

and promising, always promising

an outcome. A deliverance.

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

Walk.Thought.Walk.

Walk.Thought.Walk.

Walk.Thought.Walk.

Walk. Thought. Walk

 

Red soil rusting, a souvenir of the sun

Charmed fingers of furrowed soil stretching

Out across our fertile countryside

We dwell in the jig-saw of the lost and found

We lucky ones of the west

 

Today, the shortest

Begins in a grey shawl

Water-colour shades that seep

Against the edges of a brief history

When time is the fulcrum

 

Now hope teeters

On half formed desires

An ancient past and a future

That could be electric

So much in the balance of fractions