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.


Because You Kept It

Feels like the frustrated fury of
Fifty thousand hearts
Fizzing, crackling and buzzing
Like acid hornets in the
Haunted, sulphur-walled  canyons
Of my ringing mind.
I am here, by
Longest days flame.
You are not, and
Echoes of all that street thunder
Going round in circles.
Your absence stings.
You were wise enough to know
It was time to finish
Long before I ever did;
But you said nothing,
Gave no sign,
And, while I hate you
For your silence
I also love you all the more
Because you kept it.



To Sit With You Again

(Hello Facebook my old friend,

I’ve come to sit with you again)


In a public book of avatar faces

We meet without touching,

Talk without speaking:

The background echoes

Of a minstrel-prophet.

Did he really see what was coming?

Is it so wrong to crave silence?

To try to turn up a collar

Against the ego, babble and nonsense?


That time of year:

Grave winter becoming

Brave spring;

That soul-search time of night,

That stage of unexplored friendship:

Depths innocently plumbed.


There’s no music

That I can hear.

This is a song

I can never sing.