Al

An old mate called Al
studied intently
the Gurdjieff movements
for one and a half decades:

intricate dancing
clear little head-turns
dervishes’ fingers,
hands, feet and eyeballs.

At Christmas time he suggested
carving silence on his inside,
tiny and sweet like a still-point
(in the eye of a tornado)’s
the most amazing thing he learned:
hollowed be thy name.

Woodburner Glamour

Roaring hot and hard today;
heart of orange, lumber, flame
fed by hand and fed by draught,
breathe and splutter, have a laugh.

See through my window
bellowing shadow,
feel my face shining,
hear my voice singing;

guffaw a minute,
take without effort,
always adore me,
eagerly gaze at me:
red-hot I’m bolder,
blue and I’m colder.

Choice

Inexorable logic on logic
plotting formulae into my spreadsheet
with cause-effect, sine-wave, a particle,
pi - on and on – such an effort

but I’m born of melody, mixed
out of salt into soup, grown of sunlight;
a writhing, a forcing, a molecule
grabbing for first breath at midnight.

According to Ralph Waldo Emerson,
a Daemon stands beside me,
an anchor, idealising destiny

and that is surely how I’ll know
a good friend from a sour one,
the dark side of the moon or balmy sun.

Heating oil for the last supper

Outta oil, our tank ran empty
through the coldest winter in a century;
snow’s about and a shortage of oil,
t’wagons can’t get through at all!

I had to sweet-talk Mr Bigshot,
told ‘im tank were empty, we were out,
and only when he heard my missus hullabaloo
did he say he’d ‘see what he could do’.

Next day, there t’was – a big lorry
and he half-filled our tank, bless his trousers,
though yet there’s no spark, there’s no heat here.

But, when I crack the tightest nut in all of history,
the oil bleeds a tear, has a weep, flames away
and our hands warm together – blessed be.

Give & Take

Today – hooray - my diary has gaps,
I’m trusting it’s an easy day,
tittle-tattle with some chaps,
I’ve time to spare and rest and, even, play;

when Dave steps in the room,
miserable loon
‘I got news for you!’
handshake, troubles, dear, oh dear

and Stevie had a crisis,
I thought that we had cracked it
but Mark sat down
with spreadsheet, frown;
all in all, I’ve gotta shrug and laugh:
this is this - (and this and me and they) - move this to that.

A Container

The crazy trees decide to feel inside joy outside dancing stars rotate love now
crazy trees decide to feel inside joy outside dancing stars rotate love now
crazy trees decide to feel inside joy outside dancing stars rotate love
trees decide to feel inside joy outside dancing stars rotate love
trees decide to feel inside joy outside dancing stars rotate
decide to feel inside joy outside dancing stars rotate
decide to feel inside joy outside dancing stars
to feel inside joy outside dancing stars
to feel inside joy outside dancing
feel inside joy outside dancing
feel inside joy outside
inside joy outside
inside joy
joy

Mobiles on the train

Forgetting how to pray
we rabbit-on instead, lifting
mobile phones in praise
- a modern way of living.

Projecting words as kind-of-truth,
wagging tongues flap on - and on again;
speaking sometimes softly, sometimes rough,
with every song from worry, sorry, joy or sadness, pain.

Praying now I see
cold snow reach out so far
along England’s dusk. It’s Winter and a train
guard calls ‘I apologise’ again, again.

Broken promises! I’m only half aware he’s hoping for
a nod, a yes, responding to a tiny hope, his prayer.