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.
Tag Archives: words
…Were They ?
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 … ?
Time …
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.
Carrying Messages.
Scenery’s never been so vivid.
But rain is rain;
Diagonal rods,
The spaces between,
Carrying messages
The Spirit of Melinda
Alone in a boisterous crowd;
A mob expecting spectacle:
Thunder, fury, blood,
Maybe more ….
The Wrong Kind
Wharf-pool water –
Century’s stagnant mirror –
Surface made of shattered
Butcher’s knife blades and
Shards of guillotine in a
Brick-sided drawer:
Across
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
Resolutions?
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
Heron
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.
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