Saturday 16 April 2011

Turn

Somewhat like an old sunflower


I conned a bee the livelong day

and dark the night and tossed was i,


tossed and bowed by beating heart,

battered by windstorm head to root;


humbled by the night, i become

a face-turn now towards the sun.

Thursday 14 April 2011

Day

When golden sun arises in the fields

my shadow falls onto the West,

rapidly I am tall

- but then shorter

and shorter

as form

turns

to

zero

at midday

- when my outline

sputters and travels out

into the falling, aching East

and I arise again, full, disappear.

Tuesday 12 April 2011

According to Wordsworth, the child is father of the man

although I will avoid reflected light

turning from my mirror again, again

because I know I’m headed for midnight;

a little rest and a little more pain.


A heart that flows a river’s what I see;

(my tiny life is dropping down the drain)

- not knowing who I am or who I’ll be -


although my son loves mirrors like a Star,

sees himself as Elvis, Danny, he

adores his own reflection, avatar;

knows that power’s rising to a height


with alchemy of joy - and jollity -

polishing the mirror, burning bright,

although I will avoid reflected light.


Sunday 10 April 2011

Andrew knows

that when he smiles he can’t lose

his little life, a given gift,

and when he smiles, he will include

folks on the right and on his left


as if we’re all relying on

a simple little theory that

angel, ape, enlightened man

without a smile’s a dot, a mote.


Around the dinner table, he’s

holding gaze; attention of

his friends, his mates and yes, he knows

the great effect a smile can have;


suggesting ‘there is joy and peace’

with mouth and eyes for people in a race.