The
Time to choose,
Tiger Lily,
Is nearly here:
The sweet
Or the dark?
The demons that seemed
So glamorous earlier
Will have their pound of sin;
The words that sounded
Once delightful
Have their hooks in you.
The
Time to choose,
Tiger Lily,
Is nearly here:
The sweet
Or the dark?
The demons that seemed
So glamorous earlier
Will have their pound of sin;
The words that sounded
Once delightful
Have their hooks in you.
We are all capable of such extreme,
Easy self-deception,
Such arrogant vanities –
Aren’t we ?
The plain truth was always that
The words which we scratch
With broken-holiday spades,
In drying sand;
The shapes we construct
Between tide and tide;
That we daub so righteously
On the division walls
Or broadcast to the electric winds
Across the wireless world
Were never meant to last!
Or … ?
Thunder quietly stirs in
The dark music distances
At the end of the silver day tracks:
The one armed smith and
The eight-legged stormbringer.
A different crew walks the morning desert
Between directions, must be
Getting closer to the time
To visit the city I fear,
To use the words we never said.
Alone in a boisterous crowd;
A mob expecting spectacle:
Thunder, fury, blood,
Maybe more ….
Wharf-pool water –
Century’s stagnant mirror –
Surface made of shattered
Butcher’s knife blades and
Shards of guillotine in a
Brick-sided drawer:
The words she seems
To set down so effortlessly
Sing to my soul across distances –
Geographical, cultural and temporal –
Arrowing across
The ether wastes
Like a coming-home smile.
9/7/2013
Talk your thin, fool words,
Make your feet-of-clay plans –
Both will carry,
Curse-crystal clear –
Feel the gods laughing presence,
As they position game-pieces,
Sharpen diamond teeth?
Plant your pale, flags
On maps-that aren’t;
As if they mean something,
Are terribly significant …
If it’ll help.
Conceal tribal silver
As is traditional,
With future beauties, power
And conceit
Atop the sacred rock:
Strap war-doom saddles to
Belligerent bull camels –
Time is treasure –
The star is
Always moving on.
27/12/2012
I am heron,
Last of the lonely fisherfolk clan,
Wrestling breath and existence
At December-Edge Lake.
Needs must when
Winter-king rules;
So I will take
Frogs from frozen mud,
Cold-killed cadaver from bog ditch graves,
Maggots from fieldside muck-heap
And warmth from memory cells –
And shun your hypocrite charity.
My hopes and words I store
Between stare-down-the-Devil eyes,
Behind decision sharp weapon bill
Beneath my fog-toned feather cape.
They are mine, not yours,
Seek them not.
I seek no camouflage for
Past, ruthless savagery –
That stranded me here –
Fossil in all but fact –
Pale target for avaricious
Cowardly mobs of
Bright-urchin gulls.
Denying the truth
Destroys the soul
As sure as sin
And damages any future
I may hope to have.
Adventures in the life of an English allotment
Original Nature Photojournalism
Garden Blog of the Year 2016
Welcome to my world: digging, harvesting and other stuff
for your family
The evolution of an old farmhouse, an American woman, an Englishman and their dogs.
Sharing moments of life + motherhood to encourage fellow mommas
If you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be headed right now?
surfing my tsunami
blowing through the cobwebs of my mind
Just another WordPress.com weblog
Writing the Wrong, Right, and Ridiculous
Life after the Care Farm
The most Dangerous plant to sleep under is the water lilly
Local History for Great Wyrley and Surrounding Areas
Tales from the mouth of a wolf
introspection & reflection, poetry & prose
Posts about old Hollywood, current concerns
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