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
Chlorophyll breaks down to reveal the colours beneath:
Orange is the beta carotene (like carrots)
Yellow is another carotene called xanthophylls
Maple is red because anthocyanin is sugar sweet
Brown is tannin, like tea, the end, once all the other colours are said and done..
When branches sink their roasted
Leaves into next Spring’s earth
The Dead meet the Saints and Winter’s
Angels light the leafless dark.
The year is in its adolescence
It is trying its body on for size
But not yet used to its long legs
And sex and looks
Awkward when it walks and feels
Awkward when the full formed daffodils
Suggest a cheeky bit of summer before dinner
; – )
There is hope, there is memory
But there is no knowing what will be
Beyond this time of promise, heavy with buds that
May or may not
Bear fruit, depending on whether
Frost sweeps Autumn’s sweets or thunder
Brightens all souls to glinting parodies of Paradise
: – )
This is when we harvest
What we sowed in Spring
And saw in June, July and
August; this is the cut and
Dry, the funeral of the year
When we still have its aged
Flesh with us in the room,
Testament to the wind, the
Rain, the sun and the long
Days spent filling up with
Juice and flavour, ready for
The journey back to ground,
Earth, soil: core to core.
Rake it home and
Compost it out the
Back without thinking
Of your feet and
The mess they’re
Making in the hall,
It can be cleaned
Later, when the leaves
Are rotting and re-
Cycling through the cool
Guts of worms, beetles
And other vaguer traces
Of evolution.
There once was a girl with blue-tits
Standing on the corner
Of a dirty street
Letting them sing in the lamplight
At half past five on a wet autumn eve.
Lucky to have them
Printed on nylon, somewhere
In China in colours to match hers.
Lucky to be there, at the dirty
Street corner, no care but getting
Wet through the wet autumn eve.
Moving into the twilight
She breathes holes in
The air, past the day’s paninis
Left out by Cafes for tramps to eat
On loose-knit streets
Paved over fields, gradually, down
Decades, first cobbles then tarmac,
Bits of both, interweaved, gum daisies
Sprouting pink and yellow and green
Through each kink-
About to cross the road
The blue-tits stop singing but
She ignores their hiatus and makes
For the van, white, common type
And BANG
The blue-tits go red and
Death fills the street.
Rod of silver
Wand struck
Soft on my head
Of thoughts laced
With sweet, dripping
Nectar beads
Sweet, dripping
Nectar drop.
The Sun shines
Nourishment on
Me on the bedclothes
And my day dawns
Thick, cool, clear
And tinged with
Autumn, crusts
Of the year, left to crumble, crunch
And pile their juices into compost
Fodder for the Spring.
I rise to meet
These orange-browns,
Lights dangling,
Lights drifting, drunken
Twirling through
The gusts,
Traffic wardens flick them off.
(26th November 2009)
Softly
Prizing away
Sinews
Like a surgeon,
Through to
The Sun’s
Fleshy core.
Leaves glow yellow
In the gloaming.
Sunny reds
Fleck the endless
Floor.
No chestnuts rust
The grass,
Not yet. But
Squirrels forage
For crumbs and
Tit-bits huddled
Under-leaf, left,
Last morsels
Of the Brightness
Lost to Day.
The trees and lights
Fold out electric
Strips across
The Lake,
No thought for sleep.
The birds, in trees,
In lake, must
Hood their
Eyes,
Hide lids in down
Being Every Day 