Further Away

catkins

Their long,

Slim, flower-queue bodies

Jostled by late-fall flakes of

Light mid-day snow

Hazel catkins shiver,

Dance, nudge one another,

Seeming to enjoy the attention:

Slender-spire plumes of

Spring’s candle-fire.

Immediately beyond the small paned window

The fall is innocent, robbed of threat –

Simple, gentle, deceitful horizontal descent.

Further away, between the

Game-cover wood and the

Hedge cuttings brash pile

It more capricious,

Openly slanted and vicious.

While I’m asleep

Some things will happen,

Some things won’t.

10/3/2013

photo source: www.hollybank-woods.hampshire.org.uk

The Status Quo

It’s that always-inevitable,

Nettle sting time again,

After the anticipation,

The first-time-again surprise

And pleasure;

That heartbreak song again:

A bus stop song,

A railway platform song,

A tomorrow morning-alone song –

The bye-bye song,

Gently savage chords,

Mellow move-away melody

That mean –

Almost certainly –

We will never meet again.

To The Dust

He’s head-down, hanging on to the last loyal gasps

Of his grim-boned, stretch-necked mare,

Tired from the flight,

After the last fight.

Passed the two hundred notches mark;

Rifle responsibility heavy on aching

Rein wrenched shoulders.

It’s not going to last much longer –

It can’t –

Surprised he got this outlaw-far.

The road goes ever on, that’s for legend-sure,

Just no guarantee who’ll be on it

Or which way the wind’ll blow;

Though he realises that only now,

Too damned late, but with a wry smile.

The blues, the reds,

The lines and the grey …

How had he managed to

Evade them for so long?

The horse stumbles, blood

Flecks from flared nostrils

Splash to the dust.

It’ll stop hurting

When the pain has gone.

4/3/2013

Buds of Wings

Before the Devil finds out

She is missing –

She can be free, be here;

Looking for a song to wear:

Hair like a mithril waterfall

Under a full snow moon.

There’s hard ground to be broken,

Cold season to battle,

Seeds to be drilled.

The strongest will floursih,

She promises, in

The spaces between rocks …

And if our love be real enough

Strong, limit-beating  wings will grow,

Where now there be only buds.

If the liberty bell blues and our chorus

Soar with heart, compassion and courage

She will be free, free  from the Satan-burn chains –

At least until the song – and

Our memory of it – fades.

1/3/2013