Away? Too Long?

Winter sun:

Remote and angry red,

Boiling its furious route

Through cochineal curdled clouds

Towards the crumbling coping

Of a wall I built

To keep the world at bay.

Didn’t work;

I’m still stumbling along paths

Scratched by anonymous others

Across ghost maps of

Another place I’ll never belong.

Tryin’

Tryin’ to get some slack,

Free my brain,

Make livin’ jus’

A little less rough:

No easy task, trus’ me now,

On labour’s Boredom Road.

On my way home from

The needle factory;

Prospects gone like

Mice in a cat’s home.

Eased back, took a drag.

Watched the clouds doin’

Their eternal calc’lation dances:

Mapping the atmosphere, assessing

The differences, shiftin’ shapes,

Tradin’ energies, motherin’

The winds, sketchin’ the seasons,

Stretchin’ time.

 

Murder’s Professor

Fierce-proud crow-piper am I

On Prospero’s good-wind, miller days,

Born of winter raven-burn,

Murder’s elegant professor,

Confessor to fictions.

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Portrait of the Poet

As night’s new choreographed clouds

Roll in and over me

I’m sitting, again,

Whole but alone again

In borrowed skin

Beneath a tree that struggles

To fit beneath the sky.

Between a warm metal heron and

A broken kitchen chair leg

I’m stabbing craziness onto

Poorly seen, second use paper

By stuttering light of gutter candles

With stubborn fingers and a

Well-chewed crayon stub.

Not everything has changed.

Not everything needs to.

25/7/2013

Treasures.

rain-puddle

There are treasures to be found

In even the dullest, flattest of puddles

Ignored by the  sky-crawl sun:

The finger print shadows of clouds.

This devil-wind is a loveless hammer

Throwing whitecaps against cruel rocks;

War-waters crowd against the walls,

Big mean-business birds are on their way;

There was  a reason for this –

But if I was considered important enough

To be told – I cannot recall what it was.

I remember being told that every

Question is a storm that

Blows both ways;

Every gate is a frame.

You want to know who’s

Sleeping in my bed this week –

Do you really care? –

I need to know who is

Living in my head

Right now!

 

Photosource: www. santhisdiary.blogspot.com

 

Smoke-Music

 

Sometimes

I take  smoke-music

With my changing landscapes;

Melodies seamlessly stitching

History and present paths

Together.

 

Sometimes

I prefer simple- silence

For my reflections;

It helps me

Put the clouds back

Where they belong.