hope

Hope + Soap

It’s now that a household God

Or two comes in handy,

Preferably one for each room

Or corner of the home, to

Bless and cherish every blemish

In the paintwork, the little,

Hard to reach crevice behind

The fridge or sofa or Xbox.

Should some uninvited guest

Arrive, the god’s will welcome

With open love, provide it

Rest and warm and nourishing

Laughs, so much that it will

Forget the weapon in its hands.

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

Throughout Nature

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.

I’m not friends with you on Facebook

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

The possibility of rain

My first sound of 2014
Was loud: water,

Soaking 2013’s tight
Twines of hope into

Something that is
Floating, now.

Hope for the New Year

New water will direct
All four corners of
The soul that
Wander without berth
The nautics between
Doubt and sight,
Darkness and love.

Last bad SAD poem before Spring, I hope

 

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.

SAD, never mind, anticipate Spring.

 

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.

12th January

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.

A Morning, Late November

 

 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)