One day, my boss, the banker

named with alarming accuracy

repeating and terrifying patterns

he became aware of – here, there, this, that

tendency. Along the way we mastered

cooking, toad-in-the-hole, usury, fluff,

sing a song of sixpence, iterative truth:

nodding behind old safety in his hood

and the terror of being rumbled, understood.

Love

We look away at the same sky;

a sky that’s always changing.

I fail to make this world benign,

although we see the same sky

and here we are, alone now,

side-by-side with waving trees

and, in a our time, unerring breeze

is dancing down a blinking street,

like dancing thoughts of you.

And so my deepest choice is trust

- to trust the wind and blue sky

and feel the wind there, deep, away

in little spots of sadness, joy,

that slowly will return, repay:

is that not why we’re here and now;

in wind, in time, today?

Down's Supper

One day I joined some folk I loved

sitting in a ring,

eating up their fish and chips;

not saying anything

and, in-between their little band,

I caught a special smile;

a secret in a private club

connected for a while.

It’s rare to clock a mystic note

and inner sweetness roaring

magnetism in a ring;

a cloud of magic turning.

They touched each other in a glow

that left me far behind,

sensing I could never flow

with my mutilated mind.

Love

Onward river

to the ocean

with a quiver,

rocking motion;

nothing single

all vibrating

stir and mingle,

celebrating

hot sun, cold moon

spin together,

tea and teaspoon,

sister, brother,

river, woodland,

ankle, shoe;

me and

you.

Season

That fire has been burning for a long, long stint

and one blue ball twists and turns akimbo

delighting water, up and up, to air

and a whiter flower bursts into gold

and a tiny creature sucks at liquor

and that tiny creature’s gobbled by a flying bird

landing in a treetop, hammering a song

for Spring, for Spring, carousaling Spring.

Retribution of Nonsense

If you get a longing for Benidorm,

it’s crucial, early doors, you realize

the wild pigs of Gaia could burgle your home.

The best looking sow will pick-the-locks, some

porkers will look-out (with piggy eyes)

while you get in the car for Benidorm.

Grunting swine in bed will be the norm

and shitting in the yard to attract flies

when the wild pigs of Gaia burgle your home.

They’ll snout your whiskey, watch some piggy-porn;

hog truffles, popcorn, apples and pork pies

when you are in the air for Benidorm.

Your bath and pillows will be rancid, warm,

with ham and eggs and sausages and fries;

the wild pigs of Gaia have burgled your home.

Drink Oloroso in the aerodrome

while big bad wolves are howling at the skies

and if you get an urge for Benidorm,

the wild pigs of Gaia will burgle your home.

Towards the City

fleeting from a train,

eye-poking spring

trees, innumerable leaves

and fuzzy humans, blurring back.

Perhaps they’re talking to each other,

perhaps uninterested, perhaps alone,

lonely but they’re flying, momentary,

someplace else altogether.