For Stewart

I try watching my thoughts;

There are those that say it helps –

But memories,

Like eager, bright eyed squirrels

That leap, in happy dreams

(Where time has no relevance),

From who-knows-where

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Those Echoes

When inventions weren’t

Nearly enough, the

Mothers smashed the

Candy-store windows;

Fast fingers, diamond lips …

Even though he had

Done no wrong, the

Gentle man was pushed away.

Some nights, an old-sweet child,

Hears those echoes, and

Is crying still.

The Ticking of Other Clocks

 

What ghosts will sit

These patient seats,

Drift along aisles, up stairways,

Gasp and wave,

Believe and tremble

When these crowds –

Distracted by the

Ticking of other clocks – Move on?

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Daughter Mine.

Maybe –

She realised it so suddenly,

It actually caused physical pain –

She’d spent too damned-long

With her sleepless head

Inside a dark box of quiet,

Chocolate-bitter thunder

That echoed and repeated,

Stitching restless days together.

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The Same Old Morphine Drum.

Blood and blind faith

Were never going to be enough

On the long, harsh, decision-deferment slog;

We must have known it all along,

Carrying this indigestible truth

Silently inside every one of our

Bones, lights and souls as we

Hoped and cast charms to close out the world

With hushed fires and rough, loud whiskies.

But,  oh my, too, too soon

It’s tap – tap …

And, even at this remove,

We shake and shiver

While toad-skinned smoke

Writes its glib falsehoods.

Desperation is playing

The same old, shame-old

Morphine drum that beats no retreat

Then repeat, repeat, repeats and echoes

Around history’s full compass.

Behind dirty lilac curtains

Of spinning, cowardly clouds,

Even the sun weeps.

Truth will be brought to the table,

Perhaps,  another, future-distant dawn.

 

24/8/2013

Who Dares?

My Friday:

Your Wednesday;

But time is harsh,

Allows no detours.

In the window,

His blue shirt

Dotted with rain

Is a familiar man:

Is it someone I know,

Someone I have yet to meet?

I am distracted by

The victory songs

Of impossible imps:

Echoes of history’s

Moon drums and flash

Fingers of thunder.

The past has a future.

Who dares deny it?

Only the desperate and

The truly dangerous.

 

(Inspired by Who I Am: the autobiography of Pete Townsend, Diwali and the Walsall v Lincoln City F.A. Cup replay))

15/11/2012