nature

Under tree

“It’s a brilliant day!”

“Yes, like summer!!”

Everyone is a friend, under

The safety of the sky

The park is there and

We are in it, strangers

In one grassy home

Open to the sky, with

More time to grow

Together than ever before.

A place of greater safety

What if I woke up one

Morning and the sound

Of courting blue tits

In the Holly teased the

Edges of the light?

What if the lung of my

First waking breath

Was cleaner with the

Trafficless calm as

I rolled out, feeling for

My first draft of tea?

What if the garden patch

Was crotcheted with little

Notes of purple from the

Blushing bumble-bee loved weeds?

What if I could read and breathe

The sun-long day to myself, safe

As houses. I can, lucky me, how

Grateful I am.

S is for Spring

The threat is veiled in

Spring. Sods law that

We should be afflicted

In Nature’s sweetest time.

Our sun is fresh and

Docile now, a young

Child beckoning us

To play with the urgency

Of major chords rousing

The choirs of busy fluting

Starlings to hurry on

With their plans.

Blue tit

In the light places there

Is a tree of sparkling light

With a pitch-perfect blue

Tit balancing behind on

A new-sapping branch

So soft the little bird

Would feel, perched on

My trembling palm

I would never wonder at

It’s greeny yellow fluff

I can see why we lost

Humans cage these pretty

Little masterpieces, tricking

Our minds that they love

To share our sunless company,

Just another pidgeon

Friendly little orange eyes

Hoping for a pocketful of

Crumbs, come come, come

Close, daringly close,

Under the bench, how

Very close to me! How long

Will we two beasts be together.

Little and large, beating in

Our way, a normal scene

In spite of everything and,

Normal thing, he toddles off

Casual, almost flippant, away

Stepping, off, fork by forked

Step, pecking the Spring grass

Who are we?

As many ripples and visions

Of blueness as there are
Waves breaking

All loves,
Ever felt in this life
And the past and the next, 

A distillation
Of moments that flip
The guts into a vortex of

Deepness never seen,
Never heard; only known,
Only now,  no choice.

The force.

Claustrophobia

What do we do when there
Is no space to breathe?
When our lungs can’t hold 

The water in our eyes
And it comes rushing

Out amongst these
Crocodiles that bite

Us. There’s no such thing
As love, our limbs think, 

As our blood cracks back,
Retreats into our heart,

For home, but the door
Is locked and the ventricles

Glare back, blank
Windows harbouring the

Eternity of Death
That lurks behind

Every breath. Ready
To pounce out like

a cat released to go
Hunting in the bird-

Filled night that
Quacks around us in

A cacophony of quarks
We can’t decipher as

Our hands go numb
With stress and our 

Hips contract around
Our basal strength

As it pours out
Uncontrollably and

Meanwhile where is
The chair? We haven’t 

Sat down for so long
We can’t remember

What rest means.
Be still, remember

It is always there
However far away

It seems, if we
Just stop to reclaim

The space around each breath.

Approaching Yuletide

The season of shimmering bliss when

Earth rusks die down and the 

Skies weep their burden and the 

Roads sing with winds that break

The torments of the dark into tatters

Of thunder that lighten the lid

Of winter marching on towards the 

Final days of the year, where intentions

Meet reality and greet and light 

The darkness for a short strip of 

Life, the grey large silence, wider

Than the horizon, at the rise of new year

Night of dream storming

And so the rain beats comfy in the gut

Snuggled up in itself and rounded
Out like a loud joint creaking in the

Wind that feeds the curls of wayward hair
And births the life of thoughts that
Migrate like enterprising robins through

The ruts of energy that cool the livers over heated blood cells in a maze of

Wicked swirling craves that pace up and down the corners of the cell that sits in the final of the labyrinth seat of real truth

The collection of eaves that make up me that could at any minute exchange space with you or it or they that make up

You or someone and something else into a string of nothingness that is as true, although intangible like the feeing of a

Prayer soaked up on a day when pennies were raining, pitter patter, patter pitter, on the window pane.

Oceanopia

Much dark and thick possibility so much sound

Shooting up like a rock from the seas with myriad

Layers, layering upon layer in dry notes that jag

 

Shapes in the clay furrows already layered above

The waves ready for you, your sound summoned

Up from the deep so deep and dark so dark and

Deep deep breathless deep silent blackness blued

Out with dark deep darkness calling you back

 

And pulling you up without tension is

A perfect curving swoop of free joy and peace

Without cessation floating fast motion rolling crisply

With sudden air bursting nobly, regal flare, to say

Blow rushed Hey to the Sun and the stars and

 

Their rays and the Moon and the waves and

The bright bright tight spaces dancing, tickling

Upper world before swinging back round to the

Beginning of everything and into everything

That holds food and fish and blue and

 

Dark and deep and low and teeming back

Black and back up above, to breathe

Like a wave a breath like the first. The first.