Nobody Can (NaPoWriMo day 19)

The Well of Wandering Companies,

The Towers of Silence,

The Four Daughters

(Virgins perhaps?)

The Way of the Guns,

the Djinn of Two Masters.

Inevitably, to our shame,

It is both sad

And terrible that,

Even if they wish to –

Nobody can hide forever

These days.

Looking To Settle

Along the Fawn-Run Brook

Mist peels off

The autumn hedgerows

Where flies September-sensation

Sunup butterflies; swing-tottering on

Tattered flag parasail wings,

Continue reading

Drops

             I
From the spinning
Circles that cross
Heaven and Hell,
Down the skies,
Between the branches,
The iron routes,
Across the leaves,
Between the rocks,
The weeds and brick dust;
Un-noticed they
Fall and run:
The too-casual
Drops of history.

  II
This is the placid hour
Of the fumble-flying moths.
 Day’s-eye stars are closing;
The honeybee’s purple
Pincushion, nectar and pollen palace
seaholly

Is become medieval slate mace.
Clusters of early autumn berries
Constellation-spin above:
Monochrome peace
Has come to visit.

23/8/2013

It May Be …

It may be that I am not completely lost –

Or, indeed that in obsession,

This state is ultimately desirable –

But I am on a route of love-stones.

To one side water climbs,

Sublime silver grace,

Down sheerfall rock;

Knowing, perhaps that its

Destiny is circular:

Confident that it will return.

For me?

Two more nights will get me

To the consummation bridge

If bridge there be

And I am gifted two more nights.

 

19/7/2013

Ancient …

Ancient are the

Roots that run long

And unseen

In the lines and

Coloured sky patches.

 

Essential are they,

For they calm my

Fed-by-sunrise spirit.

 

Eternal are the

Rivers that roar silently

And  star-voice deep

Below mountain crests,

Between midnight crusts.

 

Essential are they,

 For they feed my

Calmed-by-sunset soul.

 

28/4/2013

The Dew-Jam Bush

Yesterday morning,

Before the courting magpie-monkeys

Ferried the dawn sun into the sky,

I hung my ear on a branch

Of the island dew-jam bush.

Hung it high so I would hear

Horizon-hidden good news breaking,

Your sigh-long sigh of relief,

Your big-beam smile.

5/4/2013

Live-Again Hulks

DSC01156

Touching down on

Riveted ribs, sore knees and knuckles

(But decorated toes curled up

Inside thin iron-skin slippers,

For this heavy-gravity water

Is Hellfire-cold today).

Stealing volume,

Pumping it into framed dark spaces.

Borrowing colour, these live-again hulks

Balance patiently on

Their own reflections,

Their own potential.

4/4/2013