Relapse

Flies or crows or
Spiders
Long forgotten

Still I chose
To go back to sleep

Only fifteen minutes
To the alarm

Shortly
Afterwards
In the stillness of the day

The early light
With movement only
Of birds and superstitions

Not a breath of breeze
The white sky sure

To turn to blue
In the fullness of the day

Time to move on
Work out
What is meant

By crows
Or flies or spiders
Long since forgotten

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Unfathomable Security

I am still in search, of all
That you think I’ve found
I am still on the lookout
For far less solid ground

With no light
He might have said
The night he read your story
Of the also after dead

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Guthrie

You sang, of being amongst the dust bowls

I write, of cornfields, sunbeams on the rapeseed, walks by streams and meadows, willows no longer for the weeping, fresh shoots, that reach up to the sky

You sang on, of having been brought through the great depression

I write on, of motor homes, jet-streams beyond the blue day, talk shows with entrepreneurs, moguls no longer there for the reaping, fresh shoots, that think they’ll never die

Your boy sang, he made it to the big time

As my mother’s son I write, of families tormented by suppression, repressed with hopes they could not call; the little girl skips, swings her pink handbag, thank heaven their souls eternally tried

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Guillemots

Swoop

Dive

Soar

Glide

Cliff tops

Grey skies

Raindrops

Sea spray

Listen; hear sigh

The mournful cry 

Of the guillemots

Listen

Silent in 

Your own self

To call the guillemots

Another night of theatre 

Another night

Of crowd control

Take me to your sky life

Pass on by

Your broken heart

Take me to your soul

Listen to the call, listen

And be silent 

In your own self

Hear the call

The mournful cry

From the grey skies

& the cliff tops

The call

From the raindrops

& the sea spray

The squawk

& sigh 

The beautiful cry

Of the guillemots

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All made up and nowhere to go

To sit without suggestion

As protected by the dream

Black spots of resurrection

Connected altogether too clean

To sit as an observed dimension

The dementia of a scheme

White dots of self infection

Reflect the step to true demean

To sit await collection

For inspection by the team

Blood clots of doubt detection

Deflect the specs it seems

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