Sunday, 1 December 2013
Thursday, 21 November 2013
Today I strolled
of T.S. Eliot’s orbit
of Russell Square.
Leaves were falling
and trees apparently
settling for a bitter pill;
their frosty pixilation.
But a warm sun was out.
I kicked waves forward
to a waiting underground voice
‘This train will stop at Morden.’
Friday, 15 November 2013
Tuesday, 5 November 2013
If the world was how-less,
instinct would be master.
If the world was why-less,
motive would be clearer.
If the world was who-less,
freedom would be simpler.
If the worlds was when-less,
only now would matter.
If the world was where-less,
self would be the fixer.
If the world was what-less,
all would be a wonder.
Sunday, 27 October 2013
At this time of year countless little fish
swim in shallows of the Aegean sea,
newly born there, quick and flickering
cutting slick water under bright sunshine.
Incoming and outgoing waves sensate
and slowly pebbles turn to integrate.
Nearby spots of flotsam move more softly
but, best of all, darting, diverting black fish
seeming to dance in their idealism,
safe and quick, inquisitive.
I’ve seen them before and caught their spell
but this time I look more closely, turning
eyeballs in tandem with an alien
environment that I’ll never discern.
And I see not single fish but, always,
there are two fish – a black darter and a
white partner, arcing effortlessly as one;
nimble and absolute, together.
They are mating, surely, invertebrates,
black and white, peace and space, united.
I show them to my wife as a miracle,
duck even closer, then step away,
Waves turn. Like a perceptual puzzle,
two fish, lively, diverge, turn back to truth
and become one tiny silver creature
making its way alone in the ocean;
an explorer sucking life, mouth open,
eyes awake; this way, that way, any-way,
projecting black shadow from a bright star
onto our waiting earth.
Saturday, 12 October 2013
When the barrier stays down
a micro phonic voice
stutters ‘I can’t see you on my screen,
what’s the name again?’
There’s no real need to panic
even though panic’s a bodily instinct;
it’s more a need to wonder, be curious
about that continuing need to breathe
and that you really deserve to live
a little longer, to feel butterflies
in the gut and be tickled
for a while, licking lips,
coldly sensing fresh air,
one breath, next step, blinking.
Sunday, 6 October 2013
In sea shallows, I slope a toe
and feel that first shock
when a little wave arises.
I take a step ahead now,
numb to the shinbone,
what to do next. To fight
flee into apathy,
Skip ahead and a new wave catches
thighs - bring it on -
and another forward-move
until a boomer whacks my chest
to almost a topple
of torso and water.
I keep walking
beyond mindful tricks
of cold and danger
to go again
knowing that heart is red and strong
with muscles a-tightening
ready to leap
and be lifted,