Hey look at the colour of yon yellow rose
(the incorrigible edges of crazy plants)
rest and gaze-out from a mountain ledge
(now put on a harness, your mate is the belay)
how lyrically blowing - a lullaby
(from an ageing punk, strutting his stuff)
and a picture window onto the pond
(where a gannet plummets – spearing a fish).
Anger into joy,
fear turns into love
lifting a circle
beyond any 2D
with effort - and glory -
spiral upstairs.
stands,
sighs again,
walks down the street
saying ‘Hello!’ to new people;
bearded drunks, dancing girls, singers
with eyes in the clouds, bellies of beer and boots in the gutter;
smiles as if the whole turning world needs a twinkle
and puts his arm round those who seem slumped or crumpled,
carrying their heavy fate or load.
He walks for maybe half a mile,
working the line, stars
for eyes, teeth
for smiles, sits;
sighs.
Sunlight in the café
lightens up my latte;
I cannot eat one biscuit
without a nob of butter
but maybe I should risk it
and get on - getting fatter.
Make me up a platter
- a plate of scones and butter
with subtle smells, the earth compels
my lips and mountain belly.
I’ll gobble steak and chips here,
pie and pickle, arctic rolls
while sunlight in the café
hardens and grows cold.
The day I shouted at the wind
I flew – my voice – away
and air contorted with the sound
of breath in desperate play.
I didn’t hear it echo round
where congregations pray;
perhaps it will return, rebound,
on judgment day.
A syllable or two,
a vowel,
a consonant or two,
a howl;
a new expression as a ring
into the void, no-thing.
The last day of April can be cruel,
lush-early the bluebells are fading.
Spring’s fervent these days but little flags
stand and wave in the wind, their last stand.
Can you tinkle the river,
can you timbre a blackbird,
can you stock-still a shiver,
will your bell soon be heard?
Hot – as if in Summer,
a field of bluebells shimmers
- this has been their time –
and together they have competed and won
for bee and butterfly, spider, the sun
warmed up their faces - bowed out - by the moon.
He teaches what no-one else taught;
when food enters and tingles
your tongue, stop,
focus into that little place where
sugar hits a lovely spot
and your own heat melts chocolate.
A simple trick is to close-down eyes
and notice you’re between tongue and food,
actually there, feeling uncommonly sweet.
blue is for humble,
yellow is vibrant,
purple is mystic,
green stands for healer,
red is for angry,
orange is mental,
pink stands for spirit,
pitch black - the void space;
white stands for peace.
Crown cresting, crash waving,
churn sanding, turn topping,
thump landing, serenely
off-off – (turn) - come in.
