tree

Deciduous awe

In the bark there is a
Swirl,
Press it, let its edges round
Yours,
Look down the avenue’s
Trees
With wind reaching in, to
Spine,
To the roots of your soul
Twined
To Earth’s grace, rolling on  
Round itself, round the sun,
a God.

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.

Mother

You are stronger

Than the bay that is beaten

All day and all night, you

Are cleaner and brighter than

The cool fragments of matter

That cake round our toes,

Softly absorbing their heat.

 

You are wiser

Than the ache of oak creaking

As the bark is baked, you

Are livelier at heart than

The leaves that crackle round

The edges of the hazels,

Crisping autumn into nuts.

 

You are kinder

Than the caves that are hidden

Away from cats who play catch,

Safe nesting for runny eggs

Impatient to hatch wet wings,

Your ledges echo with the

Quiet drop of Peace on stone.

 

You are better

Than the ravens at keeping

Watch lifelong through the

Woe and the weather, the

Sheets of fog and the pain, your

Sweet call is the plain truth

That feeds hope through to your young.

 

Thank you.

A favour, somewhere outside Havana

Camel back

Fist snack

Taken from

A branch

Hanging low

Over Cadillac

Driven last

On a track

Broken off

From Havana.

Pomegranate

Hip flask

Drunk deep

From lip-

Thirst, taken

Out from glove-

Box locked up

For fear of

Bandit- brigands

Drawing near.

But lonely

Is the track

With the Cadillac,

Deserted in the

Heat, it hosts

Only one, the

Thirst-quaked

Caballero, donning

Baseball cap and

Poncho – No –

In his dreams

In real life

He’s wearing

Jeans his

Father had

From some

Canadian,

Bootleg cut,

That was the

Fashion, so

He’s told,

Faded now,

Patched all

Over, hot

In the heat they

Itch at the groin and

Pinch at his thighs.

In the distance

A spot-billow

And the grunt

Of diesel – mule

As a truck bucks,

Rearing onto

Track’s horizon,

Will it help?

Stop, get out

Proffer aid

To a fellow,

Soldier of the

Road? Hoping

So, he gets

Out, our poncho

Dreamer, and

Waits – under

The same tree

Mentioned earlier

Orlando’s wheels

Turn, truck driving

Over track to

The Cadillac

Beached beside

That strange

Old tree he

Passes every

Day on the

Way into Havana.

Break, stop, lean

Speak, hola,

Man exchange,

Help, proffered,

Help accepted

Wheels carry

Four legs and

Arms, to Havana,

Hungry but

Calm, Cadillac

Waits for

A tug and

A push

And a glug

Of shampoo