A common neighbour

A common neighbour

 

I would be better served

to play a simple part

and forget any notions that

stretch to gravity, wit or pomp

 

it would also serve me well

to know my place

and reside there in peace

for I have a restless energy

 

and a mind full of buried treasure

all of which renders me

a danger to the gift

that was bestowed

 

when my mother first released me

and I took air

and a place in the world

next to you

for us

 

for us. pic for poem

for us

a sea rises beneath the ice

in a rasping wet friction of sounds

breathing below the crust

as the sounds of aeons squealing, mingling

in secrets and trysts, murders and

quiet kindnesses

all enslaved to a kingdom in limbo

in search of the mystery above

 

for us

they face one another disoriented

by nature and climate as it circles

the globe

and we, adoptive custodians,  tinker

at the fringes like alchemists

stirring the oceans and gazing

at swirling accretions of plastic

in trapped oceanic pockets

 

for us

extinction will be the longest full-stop

a foretelling of the blindness that holds

the hands of self-harm

we are so insistent, so superior, so deaf

to the echoes of poetry that wails

in the souls of those who have been long gone

but still ache with the loss that is

their knowledge, their lost and floating ethereal gifts

for us

Nowhere man

 

Nowhere man. pic for poem

 

a vagrant slouches in the doorway

like a bee fallen softly into apathy

and he glances at a waste bin with shallow contempt

for its dismal offerings and the fanfare of flies

that guard the lurid bounty of spent purchases

so casually tossed away

 

lunch-time in the metropolis and the big game

stroll oblivious to those who lie wounded

their hours of need yawning into a squeezed frame

as his eyes focus on something far away

beyond all this unpleasantness,  just like the bee,

quiet before the fall into a long silence

recurrence

Recurrence. pic for poem.

 

what price all this useless beauty

when dreams recall

the drowning man

in folded blankets

and how the dark recoils

in strangled places

exposing flaws

on naked skin

and whispers shout

with mocking sounds

behind closed doors

in deep, deep wells

so only now

one might feel

euphoria

closing in

Utterances

Utterances. pic

 

as we speak

we cling like partners in a dance

to our very own alphabet

drawn tight by desire

and we would, if we could

make a frieze of the trick

of language

 

the swollen air we launch in speech

is full of gifts

and on reflection it is sad

that so many are returned unheard

in the transmission of loss

that only time

in its wise fractions can attest