Friday, 10 August 2012

Count a birth

Once I was foolish enough
to direct magic at the
threshold of a simple fate.

Fortune swam a mother’s womb
(vivacity of random order)
sex’s creativity.

Heavenly lightning bolted
- heat and helix were guided
nonplussed by crazy harmony
- then a single cry was born.

Wednesday, 8 August 2012


I pulled
an air gun
and (at the speed of sound)
word flew.

Monday, 6 August 2012


At my Aunt’s funeral
the relatives were looking at knees and toecaps
in those little moments where words
feel not quite right – less conditioned
spots of vacancy and mystery
made empty by the undertaker screwing down a lid’s
four corners with a practical turn of his wrist.

Next day we caught sunnier weather
and my Uncle, face alight, skeleton moving,
screwed the top off a whiskey bottle
he’d had his beady-eye on for 21 years
‘You can only drink it when I’m gone’
she’d said;
and the liquid winked in the light.