Involuntary Pomp

These words are my aromatherapy, the rhyme strategy, if such a thing should exist would be my massage oil; the open spaces where reader, and writer alike, are encouraged to wander... part of my clear hope for an entire lack of politicised commitment, & should form be used then it's shape and patterns would be my very blueprint, or touchstone for how I, or how anyone, might then become a constructor or alchemist, able to dream up their own healing potions... with such ideals I welcome the singular words of love or beauty to stand ten feet tall on the billboard, erect and firm as the forewords of poetry’s very own, imaginary instruction manual


A personal response to reading Adrienne Rich’s address on commitment, in the bathtub at the end of an exhausting vacation

This poem is from the collection 

Constructs

Put a fix on it
Work through the motives
Wake with names on your lips
Be engaged with the day
Take a positive fix

This poem is from the collection 

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

This poem is from the collection 

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

This poem is from the collection 

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

This poem is from the collection