One Word

Only let it form within our breath once more,
in this moment, waiting for a tiny urge
startling that moment when we form a bubble

and long before the winter rain begins to fall;
before our little sphere floats and spins,
traveling out beyond an open door

and we stand hanging like a stupid doll,
game over, missed the chance to win.
Only let it form within my breath once more.

Morning whimsy

Loud, I hear radio music,
scoff an old muffin cooked yesterday;
breakfast’s an early endeavor
fighting the dream-state I’m feeling.

Why get up early this morning?
5 am’s early for tigers
chasing a contract, the dollar,
seeking to, somehow, do business.

Milton, old seer, knew better
than to question the start of a morning.
Blind as a mole, he dictated
verse – on and on – like a gearbox
driven by forces inside him
singing his song every day.

Three

According to Gurdjieff
(sufi dervish teacher)
inertia needs a third force;
a kind of shock or wobble.

Dare.

Pushing any gyroscope
spins it into a new place,
(a mile or millimeter’s)
turn, from here, to there.

Exuberance

Mostly condemned
to hide behind masks,
brainbox’s webs,
inside the cupboard,
under the bed:

forgotten language
hermetically sealed
in green plastic bottles,
unfizzing and screwed,
too knackered for battle.

Long gone, the power
of fireworks and passion,
long out of fashion,
old ways of working
cry ‘Come on then, crack on!’

but when we explode
with a roar to the eyeball;
no longer a freakshow
of anger, or fearful,
but joyful, sweet, whole.

Morning

Impossible it is to describe
the morning waking of a Down’s boy
who waves an open palm
one centimeter from my nose,
smiles the best of the sun
and, with voice like honey, whispers
‘Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!’

Love, it could be, yes
as If I know that word
as thing or feeling. No,
he voices out a tone
more from glory of this world:
another day of loving.
Yes.

Cashflow cafe

Slot machine flashing its lightbulbs,
beckoning come out and play,
feed me your money, I’m hungry,
give me your eyeballs today.

Suited, a man on a mobile
shouts, looking out into space,
‘cannot go on, time is money,
contracts are sliding away.’

Both, in a fluttering perception,
grab my attention – it’s free
and focus on money, a gamble,
look at me, listen to me.

Sole

Excited by your new
blue shoes, play as long
with them as you can;
sing to them,
leave no note
held inside unsung.

Let your blue shoe-song bubble
out of nothingness divine
in humility, each shoe
will make
something out of
nothing with an energy sublime.