Echoing back into
The cave of shadows,
He was the major
Chord, now he is the
Minor key that I
Tune into now and
Then, like opening
An empty biscuit
Tin just to pick at
Crumbs.
Put the lid back on.
love
Full Moon
You are a world in a
Man, you are my heart in
My hand and my stomach
In a cup that can never
Be drained, you warm up
My soul with your pulse,
Your nostrils and your breaths,
Every hair that moves
On your face is lucky to be
Born near a warmth so
Keen it could run rings around
Me after circling the moon.
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.
Love’s phases in uneven metre
1.
He throws his hands
Up like as if
Painting a self portrait
For her to judge.
She blows him bubbles
From lips that have hugged
Many forks full of
Cheesy spaghetti
Flattered with pepper.
The talk is of
Chatter the chat
Is of less but
The eyes watch
It all wise in
Quiet waiting
For later to
Be laid bare.
The legs relax with
The wine the young knees
Find a nice place
To play while the feet
Discover the other
Side and pretend each
Touch is accidental.
Above the table
The first valve
Of chilli splits,
Veins feel heat
Burst bubbles
Paint curdled –
Two gives up and
Fizzes as one-
They leave,
She forgets
To pay the
Umbrella
But he pulls
Out his fingers
And they depart
Bound in hand.
2.
Apart, the light
Was glorious.
Beach-ball-bats glistened.
Together, it was
Different.
The bench was their
Stage and all the rest
Scenery.
3
She was there in the night
She was with him in the day
Through thought’s dry vapour
She shone bright dew while
Wet in the rain she waited
At the traffic lights
Filling time with him.
4
He was the deep and
Gentle rise and fall,
What’s that he said? That
Thudding like the ebb in
Warm deep water,
Refuge for the frenzied waves.
She was a tree-like place
Of rest and love, the
Deep shade to shelter in
and heal blisters with
her leaf-balm touch.
But it twisted into something
Rough and cut in squares,
Something he had seen in
Other people’s wives and
She had felt as her roots rotted
In the dark, something neither he
Or she could see but both
Knew was there, the fruit had soured
In the heat .
Part 5
Later, recovering,
She thanked him for holding her and
Kissing her hair’s grease,
Finding the eyes she’d dropped ,
Washing them Clean
With Salt love,
The best kind:
Rock
Part 6
She found herself
Asking him
How his day
Went.
He liked how she
Bathed his stories
In warm water
Before bedtime.
She liked his way
Of being the
Full stop to end
A long day.
Together their
Effort made a kind
Of prose, as yet
Without a plot.
Saint Valentine
Good, glorious, unashamedly
Victorious in joy day in
Joy night in sight of the
Way, inspired by the light
Riding cupped in the
Knowledge of Love from
The outside in and the inside
Out, the rivulets running round
The heart and trickling down to
Soul to fill it up pleasantly, coolly
Calmly with a lake that will last
A thousand years and watch
Stalactites congregate in the
Caverns above, jewelling the ceiling
In unimagined decadence, imagined
Into real, as light and clear as the
Sound of each new drop topping
Up the lake that feeds the well of
The world that is me and the time
That is mine to drink at my leisure,
No need for thirst. Thanks be to thee,
Wide Universe.
Tending Towards Generosity
Why do we sow and water a patch
We do not own? Is it because we
Know that we and Peace are jeopardised
If our sunflower seeds are left to grow smug
Beside barren pods who cannot
See the sun, blinded by jealousy and
Deranged by the thirst that comes
From sharing Earth with thicker
Roots than theirs can ever be?
In tending to what is not ours, Nature does
Not credit us with generosity, She understands
How truly selfish are her fans,
To share the water, Earth and Sun
Is not Love but preservation of a self
That needs the nourishment that
Giving gives the giver to feed the
Craving for that gratitude and Love
That fills us when we have enough to eat but
Goes lactic as we grow hungry, keen to steal
And fence what we once gave and scattered.
Me to you
We can’t demand
Love any more than
We can change the
Colour of our eyes
But we can give
It and so free
Ourselves from the
Burden of Self.
Grounding myself with a ‘To do’ list
TO do today
To do today
To bring me
Down, tie me
Tight, back to
My rod, my
Inner sense,
My knowledge of
Myself, my
presence in the
World.
Untied I was,
Today, a floating
Balloon, no
Direction, just
Wind gusts of
Temptation
That wouldn’t
Have blown
Me off were
I tied up, safe.
But loose was
I, without
That knot of
Thought that
Used to be
Mine – That I
Gave to him
To untie or
Not. I think
He untied it,
I couldn’t see,
I’m a balloon,
But anyway,
I blame him.
Leverage
Let me stand tall
And bright,
Strengthened by
The residue of
Love, sweetly
Lasting on.
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)
Being Every Day 