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.

Image result for ecstasy emotion

“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.

 

For Home … yet.

All around me

Energy is being thrown at tall, bland walls;

Pounding, pumping legs,

Spinning numbers, belts,

Reds, silvers, greys.

And me?

I lie here, barely the right side

Of being able to breathe;

Hearing, faintly, the call of

The wide, wild blue.

Now, I am faithful as all hell –

Trust me, friend,

It has been tested –

Just not ready to

Set out

For home yet.

The Big Issue

Image result for the big issue

Bodiless message

Reached me around sun-up:

No place, today,

To rest, to think.

Dragged my bones to

The Markets of Faith,

En route to the

Hall of Candles;

Met a man

Who offered

All that he could,

The sum-total, in fact,

Of all that he was –

He wanted my trust,

But needed my money.

“Why aren’t you working?”

I dared not ask,

Too

English-polite to offend.

I have been carrying a cross

For a life time now,

One that I should lay

Next to somebody’s name.

I should ask them

That very question:

Why isn’t this man working?

What will you do to help him?

What are you doing for this local,

Here-every day, everyman?

Why would you rather commit my money,

My future, that of my family,

To those we do not know.

There are Some Illusions …

Winter dark drops its
Sharp-sudden chill
Like a heavy, studded cape
Across field, path and copse.
Moonrise wind grips
Our bones with
White-wolf fangs.

Northern rain will mate
With less-than-zero air
This December night:
Snow’s gentle manacles
Are coming to restrain us all.

But I have seen
Faith, hope and trust
In the eyes
Of Christmas youngsters –
From behind the
Beard and fairy mask –
For the first time.

There are some illusions,
Perhaps,
That we should not
Rush to destroy.

7/12/2012

For Cornelia

Roads can be blue,

Trees can be purple;

Your light need not be my light,

Even though our watches match.

 

On my way to

Adventure-to-be-written

I rest my travel-warm feet

On a ragged-corner case

Away from the

Confusing offers of help.

 

A friend-in-the-making

Knows that I am

At the wrong airport …

And I don’t feel alone.

 

8/1/2012