Water Gypsy

grebe

Pirate-eyed,

Dragon-ruffed,

Lion-maned,

Pharaoh-masked:

I am water Gypsy –

Diver of the

Deep Truth Lakes.

You are welcome to walk

The margins of the seasons,

The borders between our souls.

But, if you think

To cross the divide

There will be fierce questions.

 

Photo source: www.bbc.co.uk

28/3/2013

When It Isn’t Playing.

I suddenly realise that I

Need the lights on, the

Candle’s  insipid, greasy guttering

Is no longer sufficient.

Into the left,

Across to the right:

Who could have guessed it?

The juggler tastes his throwing apple;

Thunderbolt runs down kite-string,

Water no longer fits in the bath-tub,

Frustrated scientist goes gamma-green.

Maybe the best dancers

Don’t need the notes?

it’s about the white matter –

Less is more –

A disembodied voice informs me. –

Does she know I can hear

Music when it isn’t playing?

 

25/3/2013

The Smiles

candle1

The smiles were

Always pretty

And she said

“You are the son of a witch,

Brother to a vampire:

It’s no wonder you are crazy!”

 

The candles were

Soon gone

And she said

“I must have smoke,

I must use gold:

It’s no wonder you are crazy!”

 

Remaining days were

Travel-filled;

We danced

In a blaze of glory,

Kept the faith.

There’s a marvellous magic

to being crazy!

 

11/9/03

Hell To Pay

 

Did we really surrender

The rock, our roots,

The purple passions

That meant so much

Too soon?

Did we come down from the trees,

Leave the mesmeric cave paintings

To race into the ether future

Too quickly?

Did we  first desert,

Then crucify, those that

Had been our magnificent heroes:

The blacks, the blues, the pinks,

The mean and moody intransigents,

Those that were bitter and

Those that were mild

To comfortably readily?

Did we stop yelling questions, stop

Believing that we would live forever,

Lower the rebel colours,

The volume-threshold levels

Too rapidly?

Did we, worst of all:

Give up resistance,

Shape our lips, teeth and tongues

Around the well-paid gag-bit

Too comfortably hastily?

Did none of us,

Even for the tiniest

Fraction of a moment,

Realise there would be

Hell To Pay ?

 

24/3/2013

The White

DSC00981

The white that fell
Like mushroom spores
Giddily, god-driven; endlessly
Down the skies,
Across the winds.
The white that fell;
That carpeted lawns
That changed the contours,
That blanked the colours,
That washed the sight,
That revised plans,
That altered the focus.
The white that fell
That froze the breaths
Of unfolded sheep;
Brought strangers to the window,
Magnified distance
And bent familiar routes.
The white that fell?
It’s falling still.

The Dreamtime Fire

From the warmstones that circle

The dying dreamtime fire

Rises a ghostdance drone.

Fast falling sun is a scalped skull

On a medicine horizon pyre.

 

This is the Eve of Retribution;

Tomahawk, drum and lance-chant zone –

Vendetta’s insistent dark-whisper tools,

Revenge’s twisted-logic shadow rules …

And … escalation echoes travel swift

Between dog-fox scout and

Sabre-blue troopers:

Each and every one:

Today’s-war fools.

 

20/3/2013

Journeys of Stones

Beginning with the grain;

The barley,

The board and

The beach;

Thinking it

Ought to

Hurt much more,

Mean much more

Than this.

Where is the music?

The returning tide?

Prints prove

You were here before,

But you have no recall.

The songs and cries of pebbles

Ring in your skull

Though you would swear

You’ve never heard them before.

The journeys of stones

Are buried deep

In your bones.

English: Five Pebbles

18/3/2013

Two Hundred Plus … Don’t Let me Be Cold

How many words can there be to say?
How many kind thoughts come back this way?
Who would have thought we could stay the course
Like a mile after day rock-rock-rockin’ horse.
Like favourite band on full flow free power flight
What levels of muse delight!
Two hundred posts
Reflections of friends ‘n’ ghosts.
Where do we go?
Who’s to say, guess or know?
It’s time to open the mind,
Love to the blind
Open the heart,
Art for art
Glad to be here,
Excitement, passion and fear
Just don’t let me be cold
Even if the pavements be not gold

Metamorphosis

comet

On a March-frost night when

A comet nobody has ever seen before

Will change the skies, alter science;

After the horizon wide

Heaven-sunset-bonfire ride:

A little to the left of the moon

And just above the hills

There’s a story nobody’s ever heard

In which a star turns into an urchin.

 

“Who are you?”

The caterpillar asked … and

Alice made another mistake –

Thinking she was being questioned –

When in fact the creature

Was talking to itselves

(All the ones it had already been,

The final one it was yet to be).

 

Because maybe what you are

Used to seeing in the mirror

Is not your true form.

There are un-numbered swarms

Of shock-to-the system forms

Behind the familiar mask …

If you but dared to ask the

Carroll-caterpillar question;

Dared to remind your self how wantonly,

Disrespectfully you took so very,

Very much for granted;

Dared to remember

All that you have lost.

 

13/3/2013

 

Photo source: en.wikipedia.org

The Zero …

cold day

Road is a bitter

Freeze grey bayonet blade;

Crushed cold shale and flint link

Between the zero mercury and

The never-closer tomorrow-season.

Wind is a silent, ceaseless chainsaw, a

Horizontal cat o’ nine tails

Flailing straight through warm tissue

Into bone and blood,

Slowing life’s reactions, pleasures.

Sunrise is the thin, unfriendly

Diamond sharp, heavy-duty edge

Of a cold sett chisel,

Battering through fragile,

Pale blue sky-skin:

Spring’s feeble eggshell armour.

Today feels harsh,

The beginnings of extinction,

Or tedious, bleak totalitarian industry;

Like the worst of sad war’s

Shelterless landscapes

When the last of the living

Have limped away.

But then the songthrush sings …

11/3/2013

photo source:  www.spring-fling.co.uk