Without

This is a night to call on

The neglected-too-long,

Two faced god;

Distant doorways time,

Wandering with the wide-sky

As a hat, deep dark and

Glamourous with frost-pricked stars

That will refuse to disclose the

Futures only they can know.

Walking on the tireless long legs of Memory,

Carrying my weightless ghosts around

The rainbow’d edges of the friendship nation:

Territory with secrets,

Without hiding places,

Without borders.

Behind, Beneath

Behind these dark-of-January eyes,

Beneath deep-winter blues

There is – every now and again –

A space, a time,

A spark of faith

Where here is elsewhere

And distant is  such a tiny word

Dismissed with a wish

And the confidence

A journey can evoke.

Windows

Across memory’s autumn-dug, fragrant soil;

Below wheeling, squealing gulls

A sixty-some summer’s man

Limps up a rising, pot-holed track

With a bent back and a broken barrow,

Rooted to the leaf-fall, sun-bronzed skies

By a skein of light grey bonfire smoke

And the young faerie sparks that dance within it.

It’s Dark …

It is dark,

But, don’t miss the point,

Getting lighter by the day.

And don’t forget that,

If we be but brave enough,

We can raise a chorus,

Sing like honey-full bees

On glorious, bright sun days:

Amber and brown;

Rhythms of space,

Textures of time:

Volume without menace,

Power sans anger.

 

Abandoning …

Surrounded by the senior-sweet sound

Of memory’s belles, solitary man

Smiles, ankle-fogged, in the last-second avenue.

Miles have been travailed, promises kept.

Above him, reflected in truth-deep eyes

The traditional gunpowder trickery traces

Annual, flash- fast chemical lies

Across the change of year clouded skies.

He has walked with villains, heroes, ghosts

And the closest of friends; is here,

Momentarily abandoning habitual restlessness

To show proper respect, to honour the past.

For the future coming will test wits and will

But may also bring health and new adventure.

The Status Quo ?

Marmalade-brandy sun

Casts a giant shadow

Across the frost-rocked skies,

Leaves faint gold fairy dust

On December-white grass.

We were guilty of happily

Crossing the blue sun roads,

In cord-bare shoes;

Meeting the electric moons

-the new and the changing –

With a jester’s courtesy

And a sparkle-eyed shake of the head.

Bleeding feet:

All the miles I did for you;

Every stage

You saw me through.

Nothin’ lasts

We’d both agree,

But wasn’t it fun

To run together?

 

In Chests of Flint

‘Ere dark o’ the sun

Is total, the near-solstice sky flares;

There’s dark honey crystal in the cloudscapes,

Moorland heather petals smeared

On damson jam bubbles and lavender blossom.

Greedy anonymities of grey

Will just as soon steal it all away,

Tuck it jealously away in buried chests of flint.

But it will linger, comfortingly,

Behind my eyelids for a goodly while.

It isn’t all about being somebody,

Sometimes it’s just about

Simply noticing the dying light

… and holding it,

And keeping the faith.