It is, calm
There it is, minus calm
Between the two
There is no continuum
What is broken
What might be repaired
Between the two
Some kind of officium
Monday, 24 November 2014
Sunday, 23 November 2014
Frozen Out
It is a low-cut Sunday
The newly slung autumn sun
Floods the stubble with its orange light
The fields, once fresh with crop
Are shorn; for the winter, for the plough
As lovers we slept
Under Egyptian cotton sheets
The dreams though, soon to be abridged
Saturday, 22 November 2014
Put Upon Another
Thursday lunch
Crayfish & Rocket
Watching the guy who cleans up clean up
I sit with my own frustrations
But soon I begin wondering
What are his rack-able doubts
Does he talk to himself about a past love
Is the swift sidestep
A sign of more flamboyant times
He reminds me of my own poem
The Fedora from Buena Vista
Already I hear the samba & the rhumba
Maybe he was once a galactico
On the sands of Rio de Janeiro
His sensual slipstream movements
Reminiscent...
A feel of the breeze
With the sun on your back
Friday, 21 November 2014
Crumpled
Dew
And mist dampened leaves
Seen as singular objects of art
A vulnerable disappointed collection
Fearful of the scathing dry winds
Spring
She promised more
A journey to a collective of joy
Life affirming bows and flexes
Eventful, as all new births are
Thursday, 20 November 2014
Eight O’Clock Rock
Sat on Herons Reach
Before I ever used the word twilight
A place away from my own place
With the sounds, with the rhythms
Of other peoples melancholy
Just to get me in the mood
Before I unroll a paper canvas
Before I open a pack of pastels
Before I retune the car stereo
& think about the lines of love
Later, around midnight; late night radio
My words moved from thought to thought
Heavens above this could be heaven, for
All of the time we have before departure
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