Mixin’

Hangin’ with the fellowship today

Mixing with the global culture’s blood,

Waiting till the price is right

In the early market ‘hood.

Lookin’ at the town hall,

Chisellin’ the stone;

Dreams of expansions,

Designs upon the throne

Along the streets of jumbled pedigree

In the narrow darknesses of the mine,

We recruit militia for the unseen, ceaseless wars

There’s truffles for the swine.

We look beyond our boundaries

Where wizards plot with silver elves

There’s fodder for the factories,

Silken ambrosia charms – of course – for ourselves!

Abandoning …

Surrounded by the senior-sweet sound

Of memory’s belles, solitary man

Smiles, ankle-fogged, in the last-second avenue.

Miles have been travailed, promises kept.

Above him, reflected in truth-deep eyes

The traditional gunpowder trickery traces

Annual, flash- fast chemical lies

Across the change of year clouded skies.

He has walked with villains, heroes, ghosts

And the closest of friends; is here,

Momentarily abandoning habitual restlessness

To show proper respect, to honour the past.

For the future coming will test wits and will

But may also bring health and new adventure.

On Your Side

What should we call it:

This happy, unpredictable juxtaposition of

Time, emotion and place?

Where here is elsewhere,

Distance is merely a word

Dismissed with a hot-winged wish

And a journey on malachite-magic carpet.

Where smiles make sweetest tides of music,

Begin faithful friendships.

“Is it so very far away?”

You might think to ask,

Eyes wide; desperate to believe,

Yet unwilling to trust.

The answer is both

Yes and no; in truth

As far from your chosen reality

As lightning is from thunder.

If you wish to make the leap,

Look for me, I’ll wait a while

When sugar’d stars bleed,

On your side of the

Mist-legged bridge.

But don’t wait too long;

Impatience nudges my elbow already.

 

Carpe …

There’s blood on the blacktop, and a

Space in the peaceful pasture,

In the warm evening air, in

The fabric of the very landscape;

Accustomed company is gone.

The stars shake a little, in grief;

The roe buck pauses, sniffs

The light off-the sea wind for the

Familiar scent, fails to find it,

Shivers nervously, reminded of

Something a little beyond ken.

The dark cattle, lying down, chew over

Memory of mischievous speed

And impossible stillness in flight that

Channelled enchantress disappearance.

The hare that was there, unafraid,

Wild as myth, all spring

– Dancing, boxing, charming –

Will only be a long ear shadow

On the full moon’s face

This night –

Reminder to us all –

But never again in the meadow.

Letters? Ignored!

Unable to afford an invitation

the creature shuffles along corridors

Between the comfortable party lounges,

Lizard-eyes unblinking,

Pausing to listen, uncomprehending,

At this, or that door.

Sometimes I am that

Confused, innocent monster;

Other times I wear incubator deceit,

A happy mask, accelerator shoes

And Crazy-laugh, dance and fall

Over my fellow maniacs

In the Babel-paranoia chambers:

Trees will be clouds

When clouds can be trees.

Of All People

The little man, from the

Poorer side of Handsome Street,

Is on the screen again:

Twice framed and

Wondering how that happened

To him of all people.

I don’t know the young strangers

Bustling, full of spring’s nervous energy,

At the table next to mine.

Nobody is here from the Sad Cafe

And

Nobody is fleeing fire

This week.

Tryin’

Tryin’ to get some slack,

Free my brain,

Make livin’ jus’

A little less rough:

No easy task, trus’ me now,

On labour’s Boredom Road.

On my way home from

The needle factory;

Prospects gone like

Mice in a cat’s home.

Eased back, took a drag.

Watched the clouds doin’

Their eternal calc’lation dances:

Mapping the atmosphere, assessing

The differences, shiftin’ shapes,

Tradin’ energies, motherin’

The winds, sketchin’ the seasons,

Stretchin’ time.

 

Slave ?

She is wholly mine

To command,

To define;

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

When I take her

– My time, my place – she

Responds, so fantasy-easy and willing,

To my every whim: heavy restraint, whip,

Silken hood, smeared with honey,

Blindfolded, costumed.

She mews, smiles; in turns quiet,

Banshee, submissive, giving.

Whatever I would she takes it,

Makes it wholesome.

She will never forsake …

Who am I fooling?

She is my sometime April muse

And will soon be gone like

May morn frosts.

Is It Possible ? NaPoWriMo day 23

I want this to be a proper drama;

One of those delightful-in-the-end stories  …

That begins with a modest, under sung hero

Journeying , let’s say northwards.

It has to be against adversity

And to challenge overwhelming odds

And maybe not begin too well.

The dragon-foe is too cunning,

Uses artifice perhaps, or

The opposition tribe too powerful,

At least it appears the case …

But neither can best our hero

And his honest, hard won skills.

And we will stand straight, sit still,

We will shake our spears,

Proudly hold our red-cross shields

And fill the arena with noise and choruses

About gods saving queens …

If you can end it famously.

Is it possible bard?

 

These Grains

The future is a sand-box:

Clean, though it has been used before.

You’ve done fifty years of

Robot-sheep sleep

In the routine pipe-pipe-pipe.

Now pick up your spade:

Dig your holes, shape your hills,

Build the walls, the castles.

I am here, to nudge your elbow,

Gently remind you _

As I whispered in your predecessor’s ears –

Though you are all,

Ultimately, sensibly programmed to forget –

There are those that will use these grains

After you and your irrelevant efforts

Are gone … and they’ll never know that you were here!

 

The bad dreams will have you

If the best ones don’t.