A clam with legs like a table
pokes out a leather head and
kisses its neighbour as they float
and swim like flotsam-on-purpose.
Row-up and touch meniscus
with a cool bubble of air and velvet
water. No wobble in your element.
Do business. You are already your coffin.
Every step seems a part of a journey,
every twig on the ground from a tree,
every glittering pebble seems earth-born,
every droplet returns to the sea.
Every leaf seems inspired by sunshine,
all lightening leaps downward from friction,
a mountain stands hopeful away on a rim,
every star reaches backwards from time.
Heart seems a kettle, your pulse seems a hum,
fingers a chance for connection,
brain seems a small constellation,
ear-holes but beats on a drum,
your pelvis a key in rotation:
wake up there’s a bite on your bum.
Feedback from a Mystic
with a happy, smiling face,
‘Andrew arose to dream a life
shortly before his birth;
choosing a fate to rock you,
to knock you off your perch;
a courier from the highest,
teaching to be yourself.
‘Stop all your pointless whining,
smile like the sun, use warmth
melting the walls of your wardrobe,
smashing the glass of your pane.’
For he’s a jolly good fellow,
when the saints go marching in.
Cool,
to love a boy who’s cool:
awesome - and crucial
to be full of awe - well
full of well-spring
dripping hope; for a boy who’s thirteen,
cool.
Me, I started to discern
how the world rotates around my brain.
I’m a snappy dresser, centre of gravity;
moi, it’s me, it’s me, me, me!
I know about sociology,
myself, I ‘get’ our planet’s ecology,
the politics of peacetime - a thought-leader
- a wizard quite as fine as Harry Potter.
I also notice, over a nice lunch,
how everyone I eyeball
sees themselves spinning at the fulcrum
of the universe: an amalgam
of magical good looks, theorems
and unaccountable delusion.
it came down a ramp
from the church before Easter;
a statue of Christ.
He dropped onto lower ground,
arms raised, before he returned.
