Behind, Beneath

Behind these dark-of-January eyes,

Beneath deep-winter blues

There is – every now and again –

A space, a time,

A spark of faith

Where here is elsewhere

And distant is  such a tiny word

Dismissed with a wish

And the confidence

A journey can evoke.

Doesn’t Every Journey ..?

Here

In these few, brief –

Too-brief

Hours of change,

While the wholesome moon

And the law gods

Look away,

Identity can be fluid.

Maybe then

Perceptions being cleansed

(Or altered at any rate)

We see the doors

We were never looking for …

And nobody is harmed!

After all

Doesn’t every journey

lead to the traveller?

Chasing …

Me,

Riding wheels

Down the long-black stripe

Between jigsaw piece landscapes:

Edges, broken greens.

Me usually on

The right-wrong side

Of the white line

Chasing changing numbers:

Broken flashing arrow

On a tiny screen.

Making the

Over-and-over mistake again?

Thinking today

Is tomorrow,

Wondering

If I will

Ever learn

So We Came …

Image result for walsall fans JPT final

So, after the million-and-more

Worthless words, we came;

The faithful and the free

To be weighed on

The Scales of Reputations,

Under the Pointless Arch

And the anonymous gaze of

Distant strangers. Came

To the northernmost fringes

Of the City of False Wisdoms,

For the trials, and

After the assembling, the

Crowded, stalling, winding journey

The excesses:

Of colour and clamour,

Of favours and flavours,

Poise and pose,

The raising of voices,

Candles and sacrifices

Of fish and fruit;

The exchange of coins

For tokens,

Standing,

Sitting …

To be finally judged:

Noble, inspirational

But wanting.

 

The Thing About Planes …

 

 

 

The thing about planes

Is they’re too jet fast;

It’s translation,

Transportation,

Missing miles

Between passport heartbeats.

No time

Between departures

And destinations.

Blink once, twice;

It’s done, and

There’s no going back.

It’s gone,

People left

Far apart: Continue reading

To Union

Long is long,

Straight is straight,

‘N’ this ain’t over yet.

 

Bitter blues,

Frozen-mist locks,

Apathy shocks;

Which way to

The junction?

 

Long is lonely,

Straight is strange

‘N’ this ain’t over yet.

 

Smoking bridges,

Missed chords,

Lost keys:

On the way to union.

 

11/8/2012