Sing

Although special, singing

has never been my forte:

I find it hard to feel for sound

and coalesce my heart and mind

with earth and fire without a crowd of

apparitions getting in the way.

But, yesterday, six of us drove out

to a raging riverbank in the frost

and sparked a little fire to dance and sing around

under blue sky. A dusky moon

lit up a warning light. Open mouthed,

carousing to a churning

water slap, we floated cares downstream

and harmonized a rich, brown god

who turns and never stops, as far as

I can tell. At the end, our fire roared with wind

into a start of silence.

                                                Back in

the kitchen, all talk stopped, all

bodies quiet: the moon, floating, somehow

in its blackness, chose to howl; to shine.

2013

Shall

we

put all

of our scarce

and clear attention onto

a shiny

and bright

new

thing?

Grace

In a local pub, one man shouted to me

‘There but for the grace of god, go I!’

and pointed at Andrew. Consider the phrase – ‘grace

of god’ – invoking art and truth, commitment:

how beauty and love express through

skill and difference, novelty.

                                                Statesmanlike - it seemed

important not to invade an African country

or blame the boss, or thump that man, or scream,

because good beer and band were flowing; bodies

hopping. Boy I was mad!!

                                                Grace holds hands, nods,

including men and women, singing, stars,

and barmaids dancing angels pulling pints.

Andrew smiled and led the effervescent hugs and bops;

thanks to the grace of god.

Richard of York

Seemingly fleeting,

seemingly fragile.

Recipe:

bright light

and spraying water

arcing reminders

of a mystical pot

and far-flung gold.

Down's Laws

Sit on a chair,

nod,

plod,

hug like a bear,

be here

and different, odd,

smile like a god

at your subjects – and care.

Love family,

love me,

don’t care how you look,

make a show

and, in friendliness, throw

sinker, line, hook.

Sweet Rush

Is there cake on the menu, mate, cake?!
I’m sure I saw slices suggesting

a cook has been busy with baking

and sweetness is what I crave most.

Look in my eyeballs, mate, balls

to your oranges, apples, bananas;

forget 5-a-day, throw a bolas

at brothers parading with cake and

drag all their cake to the cake stand,

sprinkling sugar deep snow.

I’ve gobbled up meat and potatoes

and now I want saccharine – speed.

Valentine

We look away at the same sky;

a sky that’s always changing.

I fail to make this world benign,

although we see the same sky

and here we are, alone now,

side-by-side with waving trees

and, in a our time, unerring breeze

is dancing down a blinking street,

like dancing thoughts of two;

the best of me, the best of you.