The inevitability of beauty

The inevitability of beauty

 

wind seething chases its tail

mock fighting in a demonstration

of how futile it is to resist, meanwhile

bamboo bends like a vaulter in pursuit of personal- bests

and the sun is benign, spectating as if this

were all an earthbound diversion

 

nature lends a hand here and there

the magnolia flowering now reminds me of Mum

whose birthday came round eighty nine times in late March

and the wisteria buds fat and tight waiting to erupt

and the daffodils have walked their cocky yellow strides

so now the garden centres are looking forward to bulging tills

 

this truly is the time of sap and surge when

I am quiet, watchful and wanting to be on the manifest

as a passenger going forward; am I willing and primed?

do I have what it takes to qualify for the ticket and can I

just let nature take its course

Of course I can. I must

a night at the theatre

a night at the theatre. pic

 

I careened through narrow streets

in the darkest of Piccadilly and Soho nights

in ramshackle pursuit of a sea captain

while under my arm I struggled to carry a mattress

and all the time I knew it was absurd

but I kept up a dialogue with him, remonstrating

and arguing with the crew about why and how

he had parked his ship so close

to my car and blocked me in

 

Awake I am left with the residue

of confusion

and amazed at what goes on inside my head

when the day-shift goes out to play

and all manner of other characters move in

to the theatre of my inventions

that bristle with malevolent energy

to prick my pride and expose

my febrile hold on reality

A to Z

a to z. pic

 

leaves lay down on the path

their colours gone quiet, like mourners

and wait

for yet another foot to fall

to make an impression and leave

the cold trace of a dog or it’s masters progress

and out of the blue church bells chime

at ten past ten precisely, a descant

peeling off memories from the surface

of the still air that withholds all it can of last year

I am, it seems, stuck in a pause and waiting

for time itself to acquiesce and loosen up

to free me from my own mystifying history

and this harbour of threadbare dreams where

leaves lay down on the path

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

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

 

Sobering to think

Each second

Each instant

Is loaded

 

We only need

To harvest

Potential

To ignite a spark

 

‘Only’ is preposterous

We angle at

A magic trick

The sleek back of a bullet

 

And somehow

In that ‘seized moment’

We are aligned

Past and future present

 

A marvellous particle

Immaculate on the back

Of fusion

And so we come and go