Thursday, 3 February 2011

Finding purpose (after Emerson)

A goblin, imp, a dervish plays

among moving curtains, behind that veil;

grinning, winking, stickerly, fey,

thumps my shoulder blade time and again.

Sometimes cloudy vapour rises,

hovers up - above - and sways,

likes to drop a headache, haze

and hang there just above my brows.

Now and again my elbow jolts,

a finger flicks and points this way

along a rounded, hard-edged nail.

Cavort and dance, laughing like rain,

the veil uplifts and vapour flies;

two bright eyes shine out with fire.

Monday, 31 January 2011

Coming at You

Starting small

Coming at you

Fireworks crashing through the night

Floating seeds

Flocks of birds like

Bursts of arrows in a spray

Motorway bridges

Bloody midges

Kids on bikes or roller blades

Cambered roads

Racing drivers

Crowds that walk the other way

Shower heads


Coming at you, bills to pay

Spiky rain


Objects on the carriageway

Gusty wind

Flashing mirrors

Motorbikes on sunny days

Sparky fire

Stinging rain

Coming at you, blinding rays

Words of Strangers

(Yada Yada Yada)

‘How are you today?’ they say

‘It’s you I’m talking to’ they say.

And, oh, the sweetness in a softened bed,

the pulse of sleep, deep sleep and half asleep;

a dream is coming at you, coming in you,

along the spindle of a gyroscope

and, in a drowthy half-light of a sleep,

golden threads of dreams come swirling through

coming at you, here’s one you made earlier;

preposterous, astonishing: right at you.

So, listen, in a crack between two worlds

where busy half-lid dreamers do their stuff,

coming at you, morning eyes are flickering

and, coming at you, birds fly out from turrets

and, coming at you, moonlit objects knocking.

Knock knock. The water pipes are warming up.