Snap shots

snap-shots

Black lips. Pierced nose. Camouflage

The blank look. A tattoo on one thigh

The tube blandly transports

a tall blond in black tights

a couple with northern accents

and their chubby children

Who all,

rattle on unseen commands. Impervious

to that bow-tie on a scrawny neck

Those men in black jackets and their conformity

who look stark

against

all of it. A thoroughfare of humanity

thinking, blinking, clinking in this concertina

The smell of, the pulse of it all

unstoppable but corked

All of us. Rare breeds

enjoined to wander in pursuit

of some desire

The clock dictates with stern authority

how we should behave

pursue our leisure

and misbehave

because that face is complicit. Scornful

having seen it all

And my friend in Cairo sits

in a cafe below a full moon

not estranged from all of this

Simply surrounded by

sand.

Start me up

MeLearned Fish.jpg

untrammelled by fear

the first thought

that fragile thing

wrestles

with those first

moments unleashed

before the day unfurls

that precious arc

of the fisherman’s net

cast wide, and it

should always be an optimistic sweep

of eyes not yet occluded by doubt

limbs not bothered by gravity

and a heart willing to pump

fresh energy to gather-up

the mornings catch

always in debt

to deep, deep sleep

On the verge

On the verge.

Would beauty do?

Alone amongst the gristle of the everyday

A poppy waves not red but orange

On a supple stalk that eeks succour

From a brutal verge

A nondescript suburban highway

Cuts gradients and shapes

The enforced conformity of progress

Into vectors that cars and lorries

Stamp upon

Yet on the side

Emerging from the shoulders of a mole

Crusty pellets of dry earth

Sustain that orange flag

Defiantly romantic. Almost carefree

A splash of colour

Raising hope on a flag-pole

Against the dirty clamour

Of so many imagined goals

Softens the view

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

 

 

They have,

suffered rendition by twilight

opaque souls in jelly moulds

behind distorting glass, wet with steam

from discarded breath

 

They descend, en masse, downhill

Ensconced in their private mires

While I travel the other way

En route but solo to another place

Thinking as I pass

How willingly we let

Our lives go by

 

 

No flash of brilliance. No insight

Just a chance sighting

A fraction of glimpsed time

Scar tissue of mine

A film on The Green

Night visions

Night visions

 

What does the night evoke?

A placid moon

Raptures on The Green

When atmosphere surrounds the scene

And this man made detail

With sounds and vision

Is a shared spectacle

Gathering a charm under stars

To do outside in the elements

What we mostly do in theatres

Where the mind is cocooned

And comfort comes with a ticket

But here they go Al Fresco

And the better for it

Because community breeds peace

So we may all return

When the vision has been packed away

Grass remains

A communal space to play

Casual thoughts and foot-prints

On familiar soil

Occasional Table

Occasional Table

Occasional Table 

A small table left to founder in the garage

Stands in poor light. Ignored

The pitted surfaces accumulate dust

Spiders trails. Filaments that catch light

And lend a desultory romance to the loss

Of occasional usefulness

Whatever purpose those four feet enjoyed

Has been lost to a casual amnesia

But now I see opportunity

Texture. Form. Transition

A languishing beauty that simpers

With an essential dignity awaiting restoration

I have the fingers, the vision

Special effects and enthusiasm

To re-invigorate the very sap

Those four legs in forced exile conceal

Arise, utilitarian object

Let the present unmask your hidden talents

And re-take your bright place

In my impetuous future

Together we shall

Experience hilarity.