Worn

Another stone the distance

Another stone to hold closed the door

Although, in this instance

Another stone to begin the score

A bass stone, a treble stone

A water stone on which to pour

A trumpet stone, a cymbal stone

A sky stone on which to roar

A smooth stone, a rough stone

A callous stone, which says no more

A fondling stone, a feeling stone

A hopeless stone, hopeless at the core

A symphonic stone, a drone stone

A calling stone, laid down on the floor

A timbre stone, a chanting stone

A holding stone, hidden in the drawer

An echo stone, a dissonance stone

A flighted stone, for the song to soar

A tumbling stone, a rolling stone

A moss covered stone, I swear she swore

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Dark Dawn

A car goes down the drive

It is six in the morning

Is my elderly neighbour well

Has his grandson found a new job

Is the world everywhere

Slowly awakening, preparing

For a new dawn

A fresh light over the horizon

There is a stillness, a calm

Carried by the darkness

It is as if a secret is being shared

As you might have done

In the junior school playground

With your new best friend

You might even have whispered

No point now then to go back to bed

You have an early doctors appointment

In an hour or so; when the water is warm

You can take a bath

Have a few minutes of blissful release

As you submerge yourself

Physically, and metaphorically

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Tether (End Of)

I am no good with pain

I do not bear it well

I am not fond of suffering

I am absolutely no saint

My current dilemma

Is that the longer I sleep

The more painful my shoulder

When I wake

It’s like a good night out

The better the evening

The more joyfully inebriated

The fiercer the hangover

Or with matters of love

The deeper one throws oneself in

The harsher the heartache

Upon dissolution, upon closure

I know I should be grateful

I am grateful, for the good times

Yet, in the black of this night

I do not take to pain too easily

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Facsimiles II

Choose your music carefully

Or randomly

One is for explorations, triggers

To something new for appreciation

The other is for contemplations, backdrops

To soak into, to dwell among

Ok, so you’ve gone with Arvo Pärt

Da Pacem (Estonian Philharmonic 2006)

So sit still, at least for fifteen minutes

Let the choral voices wash over you

Yes, you may tell me  

Of the pink/red/rust coloured leaves

Flickering in the breeze

Beneath November’s blue blue sky

Or you may close your eyes

Recall the deep sleep

Which you were woken from

By a soft touch to your brow

You might even visualise

Monochrome, or mute blue

Or vast aubergine sunsets

Alive with visceral orange

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Facsimiles I

How to replicate

How to create

Stillness, silence

Peace

Engagement

Find one window

Note all, yes everything

Which you see there

Come, and go

At various

Times of day

In all kinds

Of weather

Let your mood be

As it is

As it wishes

As it finds itself

Zoom in

Zoom out

Describe the leaves

Of leaves

As being what you see

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Sex - Black; A touching you didn’t know existed (John Berger)

Of course John, black and sex

How could you not think of them together

Why, didn’t we all get married in black suits

And go to raucous society do’s in black ties

Don’t modern girls crave a little black dress

And just how far is it John

From parading our wanton sexuality

(In whatever black robes we can muster)

To where black suggests something stronger

About desire, passion, negligence, indulgence

Is that why she screamed at you John

Had the black taken you a little too far

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Jazz - The Blues: I am yours, you are mine (John Berger)

You surprise me John 

So soon after saying you won’t use colour

You talk of the blue of blueberries being sexy

Now I must tell you, that Genevieve and myself

Stood naked in a stream, eating blueberries

And so I concur with you conclusion

That the blue of blueberries is indeed sexy

And also blue as a prize, for on that day John

After paddling, we shared the bigger prize

I don’t know the piece by Schubert

But I do agree, that Parker, of all the jazzmen

Had the colour blue engraved upon his soul

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One - Yves Klein Blue (John Christie)

Your book gave me Klein, also, thankfully

It gave me Matisse, and Yuri Gagarin

Won’t each layer of colour

On a flat surface 

Change both itself

And the colour beneath it

In the same way that geologists

Take core samples of rocks

Could we not have a sideways look

At the many layers of blue

And does not each layer

Allow the artist

Another hour of contemplation

To bring his blue to the surface

Then John, to light that plane

Which will now neither be

Flat nor true, yet we are able to imagine

A whole lifetime in that one colour

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