Downfall

Downfall. pic

 

yesterday the drive was a dustbowl

throwing up swirls of fine dirt in skittish air

then overnight I woke to the sounds

of wet soldiers feet marching a tattoo

on glass and brick and stamping on the very earth

that had so recently been raised in mutiny

hot light shrieked and tore at the curtains

followed by the portentous roll of the wall of sound

clouds make as they collide, a herald for

the teeming mass of tears unleashed in war

as I lay in dry, warm peace, a double glazed

window pane away from the fray

harboured in sheets that would comfort me

until the dawn could rise and reveal

what happened without and beyond  my complacency

Yes, the soil turned by dervishes will now be tame

and the once arid landscape is now lush

in honour of the gods of the night just gone

so I look out now on a grateful scene with leaves and shoots

roots and greening grass replete

all sated by conflicts the elements dictated

now gone, moved on by angels and their laments

for casualties and needless deaths

forgetful,

 the weather marches on precipitating yet more dreams

If only war were so benign.

Dog logic

 

Dog logic. pic

 

the river today is a gun-ruffled grey

hard faced to the wind, which

we are told, is from Siberia

freakish in March

because the jet-stream has been reversed

so now snow lays amid the rigid stalks of grass

whose defiant green blades wait

like old campaigners for the thaw

which, when it comes,

will render all of this to the long march of history

but in a hot opportunistic streak

Tinkerbell steals one of Daphne’s gloves and runs

in a tumult of fur away with her prize

Kiki sets to barking and bossing the other dogs

whilst we, keepers of the leads, huddle in the warmth

of our shared solidarity

wearing daft hats against the elements

making small talk and putting cement

into the cracks of adversity.

mayday. mayday

mayday. pic for poem

 

snow is falling with stalled gravity

ponderous in white

a gift we’re told, from Russia

whose flakes stutter in our shocked air

inscrutable as they land

whispering in thick accents

and huddling in a carpet of nonchalant threats

on our lawns whose thoughts

have already turned to spring

as shocked daffodils blanch at the intrusion

dog walkers assemble to dissemble

that the biggest ‘dump’ will be on Thursday

and so we all return to base

 and wait

for everything we ever said

to come true

Dry spell

Dry Spell. For poem.

Soft brush of rain on glass overhead

the fall of notes punctuating this space below

A mood evoked

I surrender to the gradient of sounds sent down

from somewhere in the sky

and wallow in the melody

of a siren song

Will I venture out into the physicality

of precipitation

or immerse myself in the comfort

of discomfort kept at bay

These small margins of progress are the order

of my day

How good it is to live in luxury

Go lightly

Image

Go lightly

 

It rained last night

How kind

The soak of heaven

 

A bright morning greets

The sleepy witness

With a chorus from happy lawns

 

This has been a summer treat

We love that

The gift of the freely given

 

Comforting sounds, like ornaments

Going gently in the dark

Are a soothing presence

 

Then soft light and fresh smells

A chorus of hope

Opens its arms

 

The new day is simple

A great yawning element

To fill

Thames Views. 12.2.14

Thames ViewsThe Thames Riviera at Hampton where the Ferry will take you over to Hurst Meadows. If you take to the water Hampton Court Palace is only minutes away. But beware, the river is in full spate and flooding at Sunbury, Shepperton, Chertsey and Staines.

The areas that are tidal, down to the Lock at Teddington, seem to be ok at present but with high winds, more rain forecast and a full-moon to come people are keeping their fingers crossed.

Good Luck and God Bless to those who are already affected.

A message of sorts

A message of sortsA white rag rides the wind
An urgent breath that rasps against roofs
As it complains at closed spaces
The writer sits, a quiet thing, compressed, alone

Across each still page
Those that slumber wait
To find a word that might animate
The being within

All across the world cells divide
Skin flakes from dormant forms
Winds roar and shake
Or rain spills or the sun bakes

Each sound, each tremulous experience
Is plaintive. Past capture
We accelerate beyond now with slippy fingers
Looking back. Taking stock of the dropped ball

An imperceptible shift. The common drift
Letters dragged across a membrane
Scrapings of memory
The sharp tearing of reality

Outside the wind has risen
Howling. Hungry, wolf-like
Immune to sentimental post-cards
From the edge of self