Thursday, 29 November 2012
Sons, alive in my mind’s eye,
wear guitar and tee-shirts, lyrical ones
strum and (in sing-song) blue notes fly;
faces aglow like hot stones.
Strings are shimmering side-by-side
and faces stand eager in the bar-room door;
enjoying the craick, along for the ride
of brothers and magical music once more.
Tuesday, 27 November 2012
The first word of any new day
could maybe be yes or maybe no;
both words seem equally valid
reactions to onrushing light.
Maybe look romantically back to yesterday’s love
or glance for tomorrow and hyena laugh:
inexorable fate is pushing through now;
growing from substances, maybes and dreams.
Maybe laughter is tearful and ugly's a beauty
- something is nothing – and maybe we’re falling
conscripted by newness, up, into destiny;
hello and, well, thank you, maybe today.