Of Elsewheres


Society’s leashed tiger-ballerina,

Tense, coiled spring dragon of

Defence as attack,

She flits:

In and out of cloud,

In and out of consciousness.

Do we keep her here

With our greedy, silent wishes

When she dreams –

Always –

Of elsewhere?

Red, Of Course.

Three full-on winter days

On the cold-wind, monotony yard

Feeding cold blue flames

With colder fuels.

Need to check out

My situation,

My options …

Heading down the grey brick road

Heading to red sunset salvation dreams:

A place in the lottery queue;

Chance to compare journeys, calendars, champions, clocks;

Chance to find pattern and rhyme in random lines and concrete blocks.

Breathe shiver-deep, consider the numbers and companions that

Got us here, the histories that come together now –

In these magical moments …

Sometimes in order to see ahead more clearly

We have to look, hard and long over shoulders:

Chance of a ticket to be there

When we get to face the glory trials,

Stand on the way that other followers have stood

Ready to paint the next steps: red of course!

Copper and Diamond

On the railway-edge of

The borders of town,

 January’s watchman lowers

Industrial warehouse evening shutters

On a wet gone-along day.

Continue reading

Be Sure

DSC01595 (2)

Be certain-sure that the full

Treasure-moon also rises; that

elven-blued stars wing across autumn skies

In the rich fairy lands; the realms we

May be lucky enough to glimpse

Only behind our eyelids;

Beyond our fragile, tip-toe dreams.

DSC01597 (2)

Where Sails …


Where sails the moon this evening?

For it must be she: patient,

One-eyed queen and governess

Of summer heavens …

That fills the woodbine bugle

With warm narcotics that

Hypnotise and bewilder

Moths and mortals.

This timekeeper and turner

Of tides and histories

Has lessons for all who know

How to give attention;

Focus on her sky screen scribbles:

Learn of circles, times and joys,

Faces that change, masks that

Mean all and nothing,

Secrets that aren’t,

Dreams that should be,

Power in doubt and doubt in power.

Concentrate, my friend, for your

Life will be the test.



Photo: www.commons.wikimedia.org

All Behind Me Now ?

Last night’s rain,

The fence-creeping wet-poor fox,

The savage dreams of screaming men

Are all behind me now.

But their faces remain:

Dangled before me when I close my eyes;

I do not recognise a single one.

Am I supposed to?

Were they trying to pass on

A terrible secret?

Or had they just uncovered

The unholy lie?

I have no idea …

Their words, framed by desperate lips

Were lost to me, to everyone,

Their voices stolen.

Wise men say I cannot

Dream in colour.

If it is so, then black and white are

Cruelly vivid and dreadfully revealing.

Morning-of-April skies press the

New blue pages

 – Spring’s first chapter –

Against my unglazed windows.