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.

 

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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