Put a fix on it
Work through the motives
Wake with names on your lips
Be engaged with the day
Take a positive fix
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Saturday, 21 June 2014
Friday, 20 June 2014
Ceremony
It is a place of shape and deportment; families of ancients, and families of now
The young Gatsby impersonator tells his grandpapa of the truth of his homosexuality.
There are sharp intakes of breath at the five sided table; that all those years of creating wealth should have come to this.
The ceremony is over; sharp suits, floral dresses, silks, satins and famously feathered hats make their way through the we have seen better days gardens
The young Gatsby impersonator tells his grandpapa of the truth of his homosexuality.
There are sharp intakes of breath at the five sided table; that all those years of creating wealth should have come to this.
The ceremony is over; sharp suits, floral dresses, silks, satins and famously feathered hats make their way through the we have seen better days gardens
This poem is from the collection
Thursday, 19 June 2014
Set it up
Time out to time out
Spot the signs of wear and tear
Pick the pockets of the mind
Rally round the dancing bear
These are the ones
And twos in close collusion
In sharp contrast
To those who are not there
These guys eschew
The terms of confusion
All but bypass the ones
And twos who are not there
Time to time out of this time out
Collect the ticket, pay the fare
Share the dockets; to be so kind
Sally did not find her anger there
Wednesday, 18 June 2014
Time Off
Eyes closed
A body of messages
Form a disorderly queue
Interrupted
By a call from the hillside
A view of settled grass
Of the wide open moorland
Before the longer view, a more distant Tor
I bought a new watch
It acts as a reminder
Same make, similar model
Stainless steel strap, with inset gold plate
Saturday mornings did it for me then
As they do it for me now
How else to find the space
Time to agglomerate the pace
A place where vapour trails of memories
Can place me between the roof and the floor
Thrust me, hang me helpless, into the chasms
Of neither knowing, nor not ever understanding
Tuesday, 17 June 2014
Tackle
I wake so early
The stakes higher than before
This pattern called to break
For the sake of all, and evermore
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