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.
Can I make the space bigger,
between stops on the Tube,
for mind to breathe in
and out over the din
of the stomach and
thoughts and errands
and commitments and
distances between states
I could be or should be or
would be –
We can see the
Beginning of Time
But we can’t find
A plane in our
Own back yard,
Such is the nature
Of our universe.
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.
Glee
Will reign heavy in the song
When drums beat out for triumph
As I imagine that day
When sound will cloud
The sun with a brightness
That justifies the years
Spent searching for sounds
That beat the inner
Recesses like pinballs
That never won you
More change than
Fun.
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.
Wheels on the bus
Go round and round, round and round.
Carry us.
Cleaners, brokers,
One ear off or, surround sound,
All yous, hark
The timetable
Perpetual, it turns found
Into lost.
The Past bore us.
The Future holds
us – this very
second is that.
For now, we have
run out of Time.
Back track,fast forward
Or repeat or skip or cycle
Through,however you choose
To beat,keep,kill,waste
Save or use it, Time will
Creep off when you thought
You’d sewn it on properly,
This time,it will fall down
The grates in the gutter under
Leaves for someone else to
Retrieve as they walk past,
Someone else to pocket, a
Bit of luck, a bit of extra
Glinting between them
And a coin for a split second,
No nostalgia,just a penny
Someone else dropped
Their hand flew out of
Pocket to feel a
Vacant spot where a
Button taking ten
Minutes to sew on and a
Minute to buy, once was.
Actually the button is
Never lost and the
Coin is always dropping
The hand is flying
And the soul is stopping
In its split seconds as
We realise that the
Truths of time are
Erratic as the soul and
Times that by infinity.
Being Every Day 