Once …

Long drone; persistent, low

Reminds me that

Summer is heading south …

But the familiar beat

Runs on, insistent;

Little lady mysteries

Scattered like crow-charms

On new-broke ground.

We were once angels of the

Darkest, happiest thunders,

Now we stare through

Barley-glass panes at

November’s secret lights.

We have to learn to

Make fires of bones.

 

Centre Piece

Filigree testament to craftsman skills

These tiny perfect angels,

Suspended on gossamer, begin

To turn  careful candle-driven carousel:

Seeming to hover on fine

Heaven- in-a-moon moth wings,

Bearing gifts:

Morality, Humility,

Law and Education.

Spinning points of a

Holy Season Compass

They delicately describe

The circles of life.

One holds out a candle:

Light into the Dark World,

Another a book:

Different enlightenment:

A third, almost-partner,

A tree:  beneficent nature

The last … ?

Turning its back to my eyes

I am momentarily unable to see

What it will offer mankind –

… yet I notice on it’s perfect back

Unmistakable reflections

Of jealous Satan’s beckoning flames.

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I Still Don’t Know

All-day long tiny percussive fists of

Persistent rain have pummelled, nagged,

Raised the best of marvellous memories:

Those that I thought I didn’t need,

Nike’s Angels.

Steel skeletons,

Scales of carbon grace

These day-bright dragons

Have geology’s patience

As they rest in squat-mode

They preen and purr at

One another, at shadow-clones.

Then, launched by a flash,

They growl orange and white,

Green and monster-black

By the first split-second corner.

In this fierce black-top fandango,

Sitting on the shoulders of every bend

Nike’s endorphin angels

Are urging you on.

Defiant speed and dare-jester balance

Are appropriate respect for tradition’s heroes

And the tomorrow-champions.

Rough and bone deep damp:
Cold enough to kill the Devil,
dark enough to fright he angels.
the coward dial of young-year clock
Cannot console and
Walnut framed mirror
Turns an unfriend face,
Showing me bones, buzzards
And a going-down sun.

The road from ignorance
to complacence
Is lit with poor-tallow candles
And wet-wood fires.

10/1/2013

In the Eyes of Ghosts

…and, in minus-colour

Desert reaches of night,

 I have seen

The ever-bright

Lights of hope

That shine in the

Eyes of ghosts …

…and the glimmers

And dreams of

Angel queens, set to

Keep watch

Over us all.

 

14/10/2012

Wadi Araba, Jordan

 

The Violet Distance

In the violet distance

Sand eats the sun again;

Soon cold-rock peace

Will settle horizon’s disputes.

Bad-company hero

Told me (years ago)

The sky is burnin’.

I believe – in this

Desert land of faiths –

I begin to understand.

A little bit of desolation

Is desirable on

Access Action Strasse … and

Some minutes with angels

Will weave silk

For the soul.

 

14/10/2012