A light. A follicle in the darkness.
But not enough for life, yet.
I’m walking towards it, but it
Grows fainter under my watch.
poet
Day 9. Camino
‘When you master something,
you have to run away and do
something else.’ Unknown
‘If an ideas new to you, then it’s
new. As artists we are creating our world,
our way.’ David Lynch
‘It’s an important experience to look back before moving on to something else’. Harry Nuriev.
Day 8. Camino
Be bold, bold day
The tube poles are yellow
Like the arrows of the road
Is that acceptable as a sign?
That this is my route? My
Eyes are closing, a week of
Walking, the wonder is glazing
Wink wink, walk walk, the
March for meaning.
Day 5. Camino
Little women in fleeces polishing things
And in a rush for Easter, the busiest day, the pressure to raise the right sum.
Tapped my card to the screen
By Saint Margaret’s shrine , ten pounds
Like a miracle from me to her.
Day 2. Camino
Today was better,
These rules came to me,
In a different order, longer
Originally, but I carved
Them down, to be
Universal, like Moses,
On the Met line to Watford,
Clear now, about how
Miracles occur.
Day 1. Camino
I started without rules
I stumbled into this day
I was all knitted to its
Sugars and salts.
Pilgrim was a hope word
In the morning
Scrambled by night into
Lost hours, and I tasted it,
Almost dead.
Sidelines
We are loping in the margins, waiting For time to become ours again.
The margins get smaller as Larger type fills the page.
Father P.C.M. (Precious Childhood Memories)
So many, I should be able to shuffle
Them like cards and arrange them
Into different hands, full house, two pair
Et cetera Et cetera. So many hands, so
Alive the days, the hours growing under
Your gaze, facts great and small tumbling
Out of your hard working teeth, so much
Enjoyed the taste of living, the joys great
And small, coursing along the network
Through the high voltage bangs “Christ”
“******” And back again, looking for the next
Buzz, lighting the way, the room, the earth.
How old am I? My age is…
A leap of time
Between Death and
Knowing;
Curving
Round my soul,
It streaks out to the
Stars, becoming light,
It fuels
Me on or in or
Back or round,
Depending
On how I look at it or
Listen in.
On Holiday
The runway brings wonder,
Breathing its strange breath,
Promising nourishment like
The heave of swollen teats.
In the the car on the wrong
Side, we can’t read the signs, passing fast
The radio means nothing, gushing
Loud then soft, like the sea.
In the old town, new to us, the shops
Feature treats. We eat as much as we can,
Looked on by History, never stopping to
Look up at her stories,
Soon we will be going back, 4
More days of unforecast choices before
We lift off and die and memories cake us in
Nostalgia until we are born again.
Being Every Day 