The world is so loud at night

I hear Morocco pulsing

In my feet and Hong Kong

Twinkling in my throat

 

Montserratian and Barbadian lapping

Ears over to New Orleans,

Rolling down to Acapulco

 

Further down Columbian greens

That heard my father’s

First word to the world

 

Now I’m flying high above

The deep giant squids and

Corals, fighting and fading into blue

 

Back to Europe, Corfu

Familiar pieces of the jig saw puzzle

Curling at the edges, many missing

 

Do of it what can be done

With what is left, before

Some breeze, dog or toddler gusts it apart, unthinking.

Light pollution

Oh I wish they

Wouldn’t sing at

Night, the birds,

When my chest

Is tight and the

Road to Day is

Spiked with dreams

That cannot be

Seen in light of bird

Noise, rogue

Dawn speech strayed

Off the sun.

 

Please sit quiet

On your branch

And wait, if sleep

Is too heavy for the

Light state of a

January that knows

No snow but isn’t

Spring.

 

Blossom is already

Breaking the tired grey,

Confused from lack

Of sleep because

Autumn forgot to turn

All the lights off and

Let the heating run all

Night.

Letter from the night

Broken beats cracking

The ear drums,

If they didn’t miss

The junction

Round about the heart.

 

Woken sleeps that

Wait the slide

While thunder hoods the

Pitch with

Noise that quakes the eyes.

 

Sorrow skims the

Bootless calm

Of knees that let shins

Tinge with

Grief that hands won’t clean.

Rain-Drenched Night

Bogus rogue

The rain broke the

Window out in blisters

Bursting loudly on

The glass, punctuating

The house’s every step

With pangs of water

Driven through the

Thunder-frenzied

Cloud.

Tin hat

The roof pounded

Hounded to the

Sound of cat

Chasing dog and

Dog chasing cat

Catching string balls

Of silence and

Screaming them

Flat.

Stolen mother

The wet curdled wind

Whistling chinks in

The bricks , tickling

Cans and bottles while kicking

Polystyrene and papers

Up to trees bristling over over-

Grown washing sneezing

Socks to the

Breeze.

Lamp-lit quarter

Roller coasts her

Back to ground where

Sleep occurs and

Rest resounds out

Of Darkness and of

Quiet, when sharp

Noises slice unseen

Through ripe

Dream.

　

Night Stings

 

Some nights the blood

Won’t work and the heart

Feels like there’s only

Half a tick of petrol left.

Sleep goes cold

And in the afterlife encounters

Monsters spiked with

Deep-sea electric.

Dawn ripens the above

Into perfect symmetry

Again. A quiet window seat,

Disturbed only by the sun.

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.

Heavy Lullaby

Take me over the hill

A round juice-step

Or two, through

The windows of Time

Up the road past

A church burnt out

And shaken by

Bells louder than

Air pounding the aged drum of

Past.

 

Kick me, the meat, now

Hanging low and

Ripe, ready to

Fall with my weight

Of blood,

Resound through

Space. The weight

Of me dropping,

Dead round slab

On the cold floor

Of Day in the

Warm blood of

 Night.

Night Ramble

Take a dream step

From the house,                  

Pin it back fast

Over Time.

Take a road stun

Out of mist

To the train tracking

Past.

Make an in-rail over

Muddy waters where

The wind blows crude

Circles through the

Window’s timber

Lanes, bowling pins

Over heads clean

Through the dark.

 

[24^th September 2009]