Hearing Glory’s Music …

All that sinfully-wasted time –

Was it really so very long ago? –

All those fumbling words; so many

Maybe each of them would have lost interest,

Walked away, beyond my yearning reach.

And, all the while me, believing

I was dancing smoothly, faultlessly

In pure-diamond skies, hearing

Glory’s music in the slow-spiralling

Falls of angel feathers.

Could it be

I was, simply,

Always failing, slipping

Back to the minefield square

Where you have to throw a six,

Miss a go or

Pay a fine?

A Marvellous Impression: NaPoWriMo (Day 18)

Imagine:

Me –

Away from the crowd –

In comfortable, bar-stool

Bubble.

Secret eyes

Are on the green table.

The barmaid,

Doing a marvellous impression:

Of somebody who is not bored,

Is not tired, hasn’t

Seen it all before.

Music runs from history,

Positives and negatives

Wrestle over the

Wrong-shaped ball.

I may have  had it all,

Along the way …

Now I don’t …

And none of it matters.

Next to the Fact …

Again I’ve been dreamin’; the one

That always has me feelin’ like screamin’:

Wakin’ up in a place I know but don’t remember, last

Night’s warmth, passion an’ promise already coolin’ fast.

When the friends that I wanted were out

And the ones that I met were not.

Drifted to the palace game, realising I

Knew neither the names nor the rules. Later

At the accident club the edges were dull, the

Twice-warm’d wine and cheap skin-sin far too pale,

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Shadows and Motley

That miniscule, gem-precious moment,

When the present isn’t yet history,

When today is not quite yesterday

But not quite turned –

As it must – into tomorrow;

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Hearing Music.

Blond panther in beggar-black rain

Is pacing beautiful blue-silver

Dapple paths that stretch

From then to beyond

On velvet-whisper pads.

Unseen by even the cat,

Man, still-sitting on

Drum Back mountain stack

Watches it all unfold once again;

Hearing music in the

Tiny perfect silences,

Feeling tears drawn out

Of history’s eyes.

5/9/2013

Tickets, Clocks and …

Shades of

Four-in-the-morning

Friendship roads;

Sagas and riverbank coffees,

The long warm shadows of wings;

With tickets, clocks, cherrywood smoke,

A softly-strummed guitar

And new plum wine.

Nothing wrong with visiting the past,

Living in the moment:

But Tomorrow

Will be calling –

Sooner than you think –

So be sure you have

The proper words.

9/8/2013

In The Moment

Big red-sun pulley has

Been lowered behind

The stiff horizon;

Last-echo wonder-filled

Songbird-flute phrase

Is held, suspended,

In the still-star air.

Somewhere a cash-johnny train

Rolls away to some distant

Coyote-wail otherworldville.

I am in the  lizzy-thin,

Emerald and cowboy moment:

Listening to companionable

Words from orange, high-flame fire;

The mother-calm breathing of the earth:

In, hold and out.

 

19/6/2013

  • Coyote (raveng7.wordpress.com)
  • Inertia (sevinius.wordpress.com)

Way Past Numbers

She’s way past numbers,
He’s given up counting;
Their eyes, their lives
So full of history’s snow
Neither can remember the
Last time they
Enjoyed the silver powder thunder.
She can’t hear what the  one-armed drummer is saying,
He just can’t quite recognise tune the blue guitarist is playing:
Does either of them realise,
Does either of them care any more, that
It’s the doll-devil they’re paying?
Hey-ho, there’s just one letter’s difference
Between the bomb
And the final, sad, slip-away mistake.

11/4/2013

Journeys of Stones

Beginning with the grain;

The barley,

The board and

The beach;

Thinking it

Ought to

Hurt much more,

Mean much more

Than this.

Where is the music?

The returning tide?

Prints prove

You were here before,

But you have no recall.

The songs and cries of pebbles

Ring in your skull

Though you would swear

You’ve never heard them before.

The journeys of stones

Are buried deep

In your bones.

English: Five Pebbles

18/3/2013