Bard

When Shakespeare chose to pick up a pen

he set a flow of ink in motion

with every  effort staggering

a nib - back, right, away - and scratching

catching black and in blue ink

his thoughts and feelings lurching out

(single words on a page revealed)

and thoughts and feelings lurching back

to head and heart from whiter spaces

between the letters, words and lines

(that’s the Shakespeare he concealed).

The Truth may Vary

I spoke to my doc and an old journo friend:

‘Under the sun, nothing is new’ said one.

‘The only constant is change,’ said the next.

‘Only uncertainty’s certain,’ said one

and lastly, ‘There’s nothing on earth you can do.’

But in between these two, our sun arose

and flared out a wave to our feet on the earth,

heads in the air, hands in a chirruping stream.

Poets

Hardy was a misery, Blake the furthest mystery,

Auden was a brainbox, Thomas alcoholic,

Eliot and Kipling – sent their letters rippling,

Emerson a clever one, Chaucer ever saucy,

Dickinson amazing, Whitman went out traipsing,

cummings hated capitals, Owen had a war on,

Larkin was hardworking, Hughes became a laureate,

Tennyson another one, and who was HD?

But Wallace Edgar’s Wallace

tosses Shakespeare sonnets

out into a flat cap

when t’lion et up Albert.

Plenty to laugh at int’ zoo

‘ind ‘im in his Sunday clothes too.’

Wolf

Hey moon

cave mouth

is lit

for cubs

and us,

my mouth,

to play

with all

the crunch

of bone

and drink

a beck

and crouch

again

stalking

the roe

who chews

the grass

and stares

at moon.

Bloomsbury Fall

Today I strolled

in footsteps

of T.S. Eliot’s orbit

of Russell Square.

Leaves were falling

and trees apparently

settling for a bitter pill;

their frosty pixilation.

But a warm sun was out.

I kicked waves forward

to a waiting underground voice

‘This train will stop at Morden.’

Yorkshire Traveler

A grand job,

cheers for that

gluten free

Yorkshire pud.

I learnt on t’cruise

a bloke’s repute

is a fractal

of one’s food.

IF (after Kipling)

If the world was how-less,

instinct would be master.

If the world was why-less,

motive would be clearer.

If the world was who-less,

freedom would be simpler.

If the worlds was when-less,

only now would matter.

If the world was where-less,

self would be the fixer.

If the world was what-less,

all would be a wonder.