Coldth

At the seaside
your son does bad
things one day
-like- hurting someone
a little violently
so you take a away
symbols of love
-like- eye contact,
touch,
smiles, talking
and he begins to sob
like a child
because he is a child
‘I’m scared’ he says
‘a little bit scared’
and then, only then,
do you begin
to sob with him
from a hurt inside
as deep as the sea
do you begin to know
what love may become
and what love is.

Physics

I must admit
rain is tickling
our little tent
sounding like
a gigantic rain stick
(a thing man makes
to try to mimic
ancient sound)

somewhat like
the madness of
countless particles
clattering
my retina
to co-create
a clatter of
what I must admit.

Sole

Feet, how come
you handle all my
verticality
and prop me up?

Chaps, how about sponsoring
a little controlled experiment
to push the boundaries of thinking
on current biological knowledge?

Does anyone have a network
with a little spare cash, like, to grab
a few grand for Important Research.
Look there’s 10 of you for sponsorship.

Let’s get a publicity effort together,
Big lad at the end, off you go to market
and the rest of us can have a nice dinner
at home, roast beef, wee-wee, piggies,

then gladrags on - for the standing ovation.

Haiku are best

objectively penned;
but any human system
is bound for failure.

Paradise Lost 2

Satan's mind considered
with a tiny belly laugh;
although we are beloved,
perhaps we cannot love.

Man’s search for meaning

Cracking through a list of jobs;

remember cheese; what about cars

and timetables, emails, the phone?

And, smooth as summer, Yesterday’s

only one abstraction of experience

upwards, outwards, maybe making meaning

by a little brain’s outreach for sense.

To put a finger in a dyke of days,

without a mirror, how

Tomorrow turns and turns into Today, today.

Ode to Downs

Before birth, before your book opens,

I have you working out a story; to be traveling

without shadow, baggy trousered. I reckon

the plot will be discussed and, then alone,

you muster provisions; chubby fingers, thick neck,

bigger tongue, hooded eyes – oh - and a heart!

I hear from mystics it was like this.

Pounding of blood in the ear, in the brain,

(like the sea) as you set out, naked, clumsy,

across stony ground, surefooted,

with your oil lamp yet unlit, trudging,

knowing we need that light, a sacrifice

as if we'll have a better chance, wrongfooted.