I wake at five o’ clock
every morning this week
with no one else in the house
and now remember Sunday dinner,
slow eating like Arthur’s knights:
Andrew, Merlin, holding court.
He knows the names of days,
months, even seasons, but
has no time for clocks
when he sees a throng
of mates around a table
and nudges them into song.
He knows more than kings
that fortune has no era
finer than this moment;
that now it’s time to sit,
smile and clap in time:
urging that humans unite.
I lurk on the left at a bar vibrating
(the beat-box is loud alright):
my drink is drained, throat like a campfire
with a barmaid busy on the right
but, in between, an invisible force-field
is clamped in a column to the bar
unseen, unstable because, as she approaches,
the waitress fades away.
I burn and blether inside a bubble
when she lurches back to the light:
I swear she desires to slop me a glassful
but the obstacle won’t let her loose.
The band is booming, the funk is fierce,
I sizzle in personal space
unbeknown because of a barrier
of tension that pushes her back.
I shake and shout and waggle my wallet
but the barmaid won’t force through the fence
when up bowls a boy with a smile like a sunset
and smashes resistance, busts up the ban
on the Smashed.
We played today a game of ‘Joseph’
with every tribe of Israel named,
the colours in a dream recounted
easily – all twenty nine.
What a knack to ride on waves of music;
peach and violet and ruby and ochre and blue.
Delight wells catching
a given rhythm.
Imagine there has always been an inner
pulse, force, an energy of sound:
imagine I could truly listen,
donate a gift of total attention.
The music stops and a game pops away.
I think about TV and dinner.
Different musical next:
Phantom.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on…
Snaffle another drink, dearie,
a little drop more, a splash,
to get me through this dull, dull play
empty me into the trash,
gobble the bottle and, dearie mine,
shuffle along in line;
Prospero’s here in a couple of mo’s:
Shakespeare gets me so!
…and on us - in us - of us - dreams are made.
‘Look Mom, at a Super Hero sitting on a chair
inside our little living room in Super Hero gear’
The Hero’s eyes are hooded orbs of strange tomfoolery,
un-prepossessed and out to tackle any evil deed.
Fancy a party, a twirling, twist and shout?
Disco bopping, let’s go shopping, flop and smile and
chat with strangers, funny folk,
who don’t need Super Heroes - but do
enjoy fun; a grin, a hug, a sparkled eye-to-eye
and laugh out-loud at crazy pranks that Super Heroes play.
Pre-eminent in mischief,
shenanigans and winning smiles.
