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
The water is all around us and can
Lift us. We will never sink if we
Drown doubt with open – eyed gratitude
The maker is continuous and so
Should we, a product, be, for
We form all in our own image
Continuity in Hope, and it repeats
Us so everything will come
Up at sum point, mathematically.
Hope never ceases, like Time, it is,
Bright, you will not find a black
Hole that’s not shot with hope – spots,
Throughout.
This means you have me as I am now and not via the tracks I have taken and
The dust that’s fallen on former versions of myself, hanging up in
The gallery that is my life , is me,
My curation
My soul’s memories of myself and others and
I envy myself, the places I have been and the fun I have known – never alone, never unhappy,
Never a crooked smile, unless I request my deleted items be undeleted
My first sound of 2014
Was loud: water,
Soaking 2013’s tight
Twines of hope into
Something that is
Floating, now.
New water will direct
All four corners of
The soul that
Wander without berth
The nautics between
Doubt and sight,
Darkness and love.
I am done with this day
Put it back on the shelf
Or in my bag, that way
I can read it on the
Bus, if I change my mind
For one that wants to be
Reading something new.
Now is old, blank and clean,
That extra page preserved
For silent doodling, no-
One watching or listening
Now that ‘The End’ has passed.
This is the time of year when
Music needs to dig deep
To find us, rap a rope
Around our waists and wind
Us up to the light.
This is the time of year
When summer sounds are
Hollow and clatter round
Like flies scanning for jam
Round an empty jar.
This is the time of year
When Love’s warmth is
Set in relief against the
Grey, when any ray is welcomed
Like a hero from the war.
This is the time of year
When something as tiny as a
Crocus bud is all the hope
We need to prove again that
Life springs from mud.
I’ll write
You a word or
Two, here in
The dark, here’s
My word sounding
Bright through the
Night, I hope,
To you over
There, squared
Out in my mind’s
Eye, through the
Cold dead window
Blocked out with
Ice-mist then
Blind.
Comfort my night,
Warm my thin
Neck and cool
Teeth , set crooked
On this tongue.
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)
Being Every Day 