When he points, he means no harm.
Instead - he’s - being himself,
singing along to a Queen album
‘We are the Champions!’
with intensity, an elf
conducts us all with smiles and fun.
Although he will not bruise us,
when Freddy Mercury calls
‘NO TIME for losers!’
Andrew’s arm is strong enough
to point at individuals, bawl
‘Losers!’ with intensity, and, boy, that’s tough.
A malformed lamb, oppressed in a box,
is touched by drunks, passing their love
over a soft white head; it’s not a hoax
when you see his earlobes twitch and move.
I am alone, I am a stray.
I can no longer see the sky.
Into your senses only today.
I’m born and soon I’ll die.
He rises, tries to seek out grass
but legs collapse and down he slides
into paper, cardboard, plastic, pass
me a pint I’ll keep him alive.
I am alone, I am a stray.
I can no longer see the sky.
Into your senses only today.
I’m born and soon I’ll die.
It seems like, if we keep on drinking,
an invisible friend will join the round;
supping, sloshing, slurp, not thinking
it’s late, here comes the ground.
I am alone, I am a stray.
I can no longer see the sky.
Into your senses only today.
I’m born and soon I’ll die.
Shepherds suggest ‘knock his head’,
farmers nod – an old debate
and when I shuffle off to bed;
the session’s done, lights out, goodnight.
Back then, in a small room - a party buzz
and I’m at the bar;
an ex-pat in foreign lands
who can’t understand the lingo.
Fizzy beer, thinking about
attachment theory and mountains,
with only a little pain.
I hear, again and again
‘Emilio’, ‘Emilio’, ‘Emilio!’
and, there, a Spanish barman,
overweight and sweaty,
moves with grace between
beer, coffee, spirit;
serving noisy people
in shirt and waistcoat, shiny shoes.
He focuses his everything on
coffee maker, steam,
beer spilling neatly in a jar,
sweets for kiddies,
clinking change, food orders,
knife and fork, cleaning glasses,
wipe the bar,
catching faces, voices
with a nodding eyeball glance.
Holding it all together!
A man on mission,
right on purpose, service, passion.
Next night, I return
to tune again into
his energy, humility.
But he’s gone
and a pang,
a longing for excellence,
awareness, warmth, pervades
even now.
Black eyes are sublime, hooded by frayed ears,
as if peering through a shaman’s comb;
dissecting and blurring
everything changes,
behind her veil, her curtain.
Back-hair is a springy hedge
and, every time a person whispers,
she turns to listen;
more inquisitive than most
who lay and snort in the sun.
Front legs are pretty as a ballerina,
delicate and curvy,
on point. Her face,
elongated, has that quality
of a knowing smile
beneath a tasteful snout,
a bit like flexible hose;
short and smooth,
snuffling like a snorkel:
so sweet, so fat, so slow.
cosmos
a dusty void
forever changing clouds
atmosphere unseen by an eye
highest leaf on a twig on a tree
branch on a bush reaching out
a prickly pear protecting itself
a dock leaf nestled in clover
blade of grass pointing up
a river running over rock
clustered soil, brown
gooey magma
a core
fire
a core
gooey magma
clustered soil, brown
a river running over rock
blade of grass pointing up
a dock leaf nestled in clover
a prickly pear protecting itself
branch on a bush reaching out
highest leaf on a twig on a tree
atmosphere unseen by an eye
forever changing clouds
a dusty void
cosmos
A church with shabby overcoat;
made of breezeblock, cinder-faced and grey.
Barred and locked.
Locked and barred.
Litter bins around are empty
and butterflies sustain themselves by
floating to a tree, then a bush;
creating, probing, fluttering.
Me, I pray for sleep, bored,
while, southerly, a clutch of concrete mixers churn
and nearby little finches sing and flitter round. Thank the Lord.
A narrow path drops and leaps
from here to there below
and down seems even steeper
in evening’s amber glow.
Whether to start from here – go down
or start from there – climb up?
We’ll get a ride to either one,
there is no time for both
but, look, those trees are reaching out
to fight for every scrap of sun
and cockerels crow around our feet;
soon, soon enough, a day is done.
Upward stirs our muscles, blood, our heart:
we choose ascent. It’s hopeful, honest, hard.
