We Could Have … ?

The first night?

A different night?

The last night?

The only night?

A different night?

And who would have thought

We could have flown so high,

Got so far; fragile bone frames

Wrapped in simple rags?

Continue reading

Strapped

Strapped …

And delightfully suspended

In a seat inside

The somehow-gravity belly

Of and east-bound

Iron angel.

Far, far below the

Blue-highway we travel

 The yellow earth is

Devouring itself again.

Am I safe?

Is any of us?

 

photo:www.izismile.com

Away From Suitcase Words

Taking my dilemma-seat on the red-eye express –
Please let it be a save-soul flight
Hoping to be carried away from
Cheap hotel rooms and suitcase words
Towards a different kind of trigger light.

Brown sugar call, insistent demand,
Throbbing troll-drum loud
In my outlaw head.

Need the savage high-born,
Black panther lady in my bed.
If more-than-yellow survival
And deep desert-gold redemption
Are the witch’s corkscrew goals
Conquest, consummation and satisfaction
Are fantasy’s waypoints and evolution’s tolls.

6/1/2012

Lady of Spirit

At the end of the world,

We paused, breathing hard –

The lady of spirit  –

She helped me float,

I helped her climb –

And I. We looked

Across the lovely, dry rocks

That came from the

Words of God.

 

(For Deborah)/Petra, Jordan

15/10/2012

 

 

Snatches

This poem, if poem it is came about as a result of an amazing self drive tour that started and ended in Denver, taking in Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons and all places in between (Mount Rushmore and the stunning Crazy Horse monument for example)

But, somewhere on the way I became intrigued by comments heard in passing, turning some of them into the voices in the maybe-poem.

I then read a blog piece called “eavesdropping” http://writesbymoonlight.wordpress.com/2012/10/18/eavesdrop-and-take-notes/ and was inspired – or kicked up the undercarriage – enough to find it out.

My apologies, if necessary, if the quote was yours (I would be amazed that you could still remember it actually – it was during August, 2002!).

But I would be intrigued to know if you think it works … or if you have heard any good (but repeatable) eavesdropped quotes.

Hope you enjoy it:

Snatches.

“You can get two vipers

For one stingray …”

“Wedding was in Florida;

Mom arranged it that way

So her family wouldn’t make it …”

“Anytime

From

Conception to

Consumption!”

“I just didn’t like the way

He kept twisting his neck

To try to bite my ankles …”

“One says two thousand,

The next says twenty –

Who can you trust?”

“I’ve got to tell you, Jason,

I’ve slept with

Some dogs, but …”

Been Away.

Been away. Off the radar. Somewhere else. Somewhere different. With a capital Dee. I have so many impressions, drownin’ in ‘em. So many thoughts, tumblin’ in my cold-moon sky filled head. Like grains of Blake sand blown down a dune. Enough to create a dune. Maybe a series of dunes. A desert?

A desert that’s anything but a desert. But where, my friend, where, oh where to begin?

“Simple,” I hear you whisper on sand-scented winds, “begin at the beginning.” And, so sweet of you; for I know you would be trying, as ever, to help; but when the beginning is written in the opening of Holy Books?

The lake that’s a sea and so much, much more than that. Where I floated confidently in hot waters. Saturated. Literally.

A place that is, now, nothing like it was. That comforted humankind on its way out of African cradles: offering fertile lands, good plentiful water. Space for living. For evolution of civilisation. For trade. For thinking. For faiths to be born, tasted and tested.

And everywhere and everything seems to be only two handshakes, two salaams from the Old testament, the genealogy of the Bible, echoing down from 1960s Sunday school and R.E. lessons, is reality: homeland, homecoming and promises of futures.

Skies that, in the high-sun heat of day, remember the Flood, but can so rarely hold a raincloud hold a cloud – and in the night pour the balm of cool from clear-star heavens over seas of sand in which rock formations wallow like slumbering leviathans.

To a country where people are genuinely helpful, far, far beyond pale plastic pseudo-polite imitations; where, if you tap your head to a waiter in a coffee bar he will be there with Paracetomol and water, before you realise what you were signalling.

A country born from a revolution that changed the world (again); named after (or for) and bordered by a river (the one we have to cross apparently). A country that has little or nothing in the way of resources, but one that showed a different face every day – and each of them brimming with hospitality and generous friendships.

A country extremely poor in water, but one whose role and example has stabilised the region, thanks to diplomacy, patience and inspirational leadership.

A history carved in rock and the winds: revelations on every hand.

Jordan!