Windows

Across memory’s autumn-dug, fragrant soil;

Below wheeling, squealing gulls

A sixty-some summer’s man

Limps up a rising, pot-holed track

With a bent back and a broken barrow,

Rooted to the leaf-fall, sun-bronzed skies

By a skein of light grey bonfire smoke

And the young faerie sparks that dance within it.

Another New …

Little-bird silhouette

Throws big-heart

Song of summon-moonrise

Out from laburnum tops.

Big wagon;

Lonely-blue, lost and

Delivery late

Shifting gear.

Siren-street wail,

Losin’ ground in a

Lost-cause,

Goose-is-wild career.

Another new

Everynight

is riding a classic,

Long-boned,

Outlaw-bred hog

Towards my dark-garden

Hope’s shadow-beacon

Fires

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.

 

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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Not For The First Time

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Between sharp-sting showers

We all stare intently into

The February-end fire heart

Hoping to glimpse a little of the sun.

In that Damascus road

Moment of realisation Continue reading