The Church of Clocks

Restless are the

Seas and sands of time:

Tidespun and windworked

Lines of invested time.

Ever faster the full moon

leaps the mortal  fences.

I laugh now to think

How devoutly I avoided

Crossing the cathedral threshold

That leads to the Church of Clocks;

Ignored the insidious drip-tock-drop –

Thinking I was being somehow brave –

The doors that closed,

The ones we didn’t see.

Why did it take so long to realise

That our bodies are merely pins

Mercilessly nailing our want-away shadows

To the dry, stinking mud?




The Doctor.

I’ve slept since then –

More than once if truth be told – and

The picture’s changed,

The world moved on

In generation strides.

So much so that

This is a different story.

But yet …

But yet I cannot get over

What happened to the doctor – and

What happened to me

In all of the giddy-roundabout,

Switchback, switchblade years

He caringly tended  my family.

I know those adventure and apple days,

Cock-crow dawns and time-dam days

Are gone, gone, gone like small-candle smoke

In big-night, blue winds, but still,

Sometimes, it truly seems as if

He is still here,

Then is still now.




Sublime sunset pageantry,

Blood in the clouds,

Hymns and homecoming parades

Of swallow squadrons:

Wingover stories,

Over-waters glories.

There’s thunder in the near-distance –

But then, there always was –



The incredible intelligences,

The wasted, glorious  braveries,

The ever-lamentable, always-terrible

Costs of wars.





Normally Desperate

We small-moon freaks and

Too-many-times passed-over clowns

Can be savagely beautiful together,

Marching proudly down roads country

And those loud with lights,

To an unfamiliar beat:

While you struggle constantly to

Engage the electron-gypsy muse

Each day, normally desperate to

Be part of some never-ending story-dream;

Hiding from the obvious blinding fact

That nothing will need to remember this race

When we lose our way, lose our place.


Temporarily Suspended


Just me, temporarily suspended

From family,

From friends.

Just me,

A one-eyed, limping razor billed gull

And a long-limbed chestnut foal

Watch the purple and silver sun

Rise like eastern-dream blossom

From ripple-free water.

None of us could see the stars –

They are extinguished by this

New god-candle –

But, between our heartbeats,

We could still hear

Their whispered prayers.



A Hundred Ways, and More …

There’s a finely judged, difficult juggling balance –

Dreadful tension,

Joyful desperation,

Taste of tears and tide

Expectation’s edge of seat shivers –

In anticipation:

A thing of great value may be

Born of today and the past.

The past when I was a

Hundred ways, and more, different.

The place from which we ran together

Along the cowslip, wine and danger routes:

Each other’s silver-strand chains,

Constant, sometimes distant

Rock-mirror faces … then …

Now what?!

Well I’ll be damned …

The lightning strikes,

Long-waiting’s suddenly over;

Lights come on,

The hammer goes down and

Sniper rumour,  tiptoe doubt and

Evil jester’s sleight of hand

Are only  for the foolish sages

And the hesitant apes.