Kicking Leaves

(27th of August, 2015)

Is it not odd 
That happiness is
Crushing the year's 
Shed skin
Under our feet
Time is nothing 
But edge
The comfort of rubbing 
Aplastic bag 
Against your face

Dust-kissed eyelids
Leaves swirl 
The wind trips 
Over itself 
We raise it up 

Like a magic 
Mantle of childhood
A temporary embrace
That we kick our way into

The World's Fears

(By Gub, 2004)

The world’s fears 

Are a dark smear 

On the white silk 

Petticoat of hope. 

The flash of lace 

Excites a trace 

Of security, 

But beneath 

The dark coat 

Of leather 

Goat, 

The impulse to grasp 

A better thing 

Is scarcely appalling. 

To live 

To lie 

To embrace 

All things 

Then die 

Seems 

Such a harsh 

Harmful 

Hurt. 

Easier 

To rely on dirt 

The black 

Smuts 

Of helplessness 

Which abound. 

In spite of light 

The coal that burns 

Betrays the flame 

With soot 

And shame. 

The fire crackles 

But the heart is shackled 

To the dull grey morn, 

When the ash must fall 

Empty 

Cold 

Into the dry 

Dust of dawn. 

Believe that was always so, 

That man stepped out Into a fading glow 

That God slept 

Unsentient 

Unstretched 

By man’s 

Suffering. 

In the hollow 

Tunnels of open space 

One thing separates 

That eternal sea 

From a cruel Fathomless 

Divinity. 

The touch, 

The feel 

Of what is real 

Death’s rift 

A precious gift 

Between love And living 

Reminding all 

That with no pain 

There is no yearning 

No desire to recall 

That fragile, delicate 

Moment when 

Man flew 

Unconscious 

But 

Loved 

Earthward 

Touching trees 

Flowers 

The green and blue 

Of Earth's power 

Creatures humble, noble 

Sustaining grace 

Perpetuating 

Opportunity 

Continuation 

Of the race…

There the knowledge 

That confounds 

Also astounds 

With without Redemption 

Man’s fate 

An open gate 

Step out 

Step forward 

Life is for the living 

Who, 

Give 

Thrive On a multiple 

Purpose… 

Reach no conclusion 

Seek no seclusion 

Share what has been 

Storyboard what is seen 

Conjugate with sense 

Reside in the day (present tense) 

Sleep light, sleep long 

Kiss whomever 

You see 

Whether or not they belong 

Time repays 

What is given away 

Whilst closeted seconds 

Become hours wasted In mean and lonely play. 

Consider this when all is done, 

The day is over 

And you have sung your song 

Will others hear the music 

After you have gone, 

Will they punch the juke-box 

Or sigh 

Relieved 

That you 

No longer have your say… 

The future 

Call 

Is passing through 

The present 

You. 

No place 

To hide 

Or deride 

The residue 

Of “seeming” 

What you are 

Is what you leave 

Wear only one heart 

On your sleeve 

Be sure it’s yours 

Fatal 

Pause 

To strap 

Some Other 

Face 

Above your 

Neckline 

No game 

Of consequence 

Here 

Unless 

You are what you fear.

Thinning Time

(By Gub July, 2015, Leon)

Thinning time 

(For the couple on Platform 1)

The twin clocks above them measure 

Precisely that passage 

From their prime 

The tracks before 30 are 'growth' 

But after; only 

Lines of decline. 

We await news 

Of our future 

Surrounded 

By joys, 

Petty sorrows 

And small regret. 

We await 

Knowing for sure 

Only that 

Which we cannot forget. 

That life's pregnancy 

Of the possible 

Is tainted By one ineluctable 

Truth:

That whichever 

Platform we sit on 

That train comes 

For our youth... 

And our middle years, 

An eventual 

Elder selves too. 

The clocks at this station 

Are self-winding 

The trains come and 

Go the same 

The couple whose time 

Is thinning 

Await their departure 

What they have 

Is each other... 

'Each other' 

Is the name of the game.

Nameless

(By Gub, HBC, June 2015)

...of the beasts of the garden, 

Gifted by God, To Adam, 

and also Eve 

For their dominion 

Of pastures, hedgerows and 

Brooks 

They brought forth words 

For the birds and the bees and 

The cattle and the sheep 

And the fish that swam 

Deep in the ponds 

And the rustle of the shrew 

Foraging beneath the 

Falling 

Autumn leaves 

And the names they gave were 

Noble and some were sad 

But for every creature 

They 

Anointed 

They felt their hearts sure and glad 

For how could distrust 

Be born at a beginning 

But in the weeks and months 

That passed; they grew less certain 

The names were less easy 

To cast 

Agreements harder to find. 

Divided they gave up the 

Roll-call 

Some creatures escaped 

Notice and crept away silent 

Unnamed 

Adam folded his list 

Eve sang a gentle lullaby 

To herself in the twilight 

As darkness 

The wind raked the surface of the water; 

Deep below the yellow flowered lily leaves, 

An unkown creature - black as frozen ice 

Darted

You Are a Blink and A Perfect Year

(February 2015, HBC)

You are a blink

A small bird teetering on the vertiginous brink

Of youth

Somewhere between silly and couth

I watch my love for you

Chirp like a hungry cat

I watch lest my love turn into a claw

That jabs at time’s transparent booth

Destiny both revealed and concealed

A cosmic tease

For now I’m in the driver’s seat

With you every day at that precise moment

When sunrise stretches its gold-dipped fingers

I feel my way into the folds of your pocket

And trace the shape of every knuckle 

At night we lie chest to chest

Two bird-cages nestled into each other

But one day it will be me nestling into you,

Chasing the rhythms of your heartbeat.

A Perfect Year 

(By Gub, February 2015, HBC)

At Eight you leap the gate

Life’s vertiginous edge points up

And all that lies before you

Glows with promise

With love

The years behind are barely

Ripened fruit,

And with larder full

You set your foot forth

On solid ground

With pride, step up

Smart upon the rung

Jump now with merging muscle

Stretch outward into breeze

Feel freedom in these

Years, the joy of bounding

Careless, un-couped by fear

The rest is just beginning

8 – a perfect year ...

Waterloo

(July 2015)

Liquid sunset

The horizon of a landscape

Half-tamed, half-wild

You rest your head on my thigh

On the canoe-shaped deck

I am scanning the battle map

Clinching flanks
On the fields of Waterloo
The jagged blade of the war grinder

Turning far away from a woman’s world

That never extended beyond

The polished edge

Of the dinner table

I wish I had a map 
For our own Waterloo

Or is it just water rumbling

Under the bridge

Midsummer lull suits mosquitoes

As it suits the stunted wrens

That flit in and out sight 

My spirit exposed to their beauty 

Like the holly bush with suspended roots

I’m running out of solid ground

Longing for this thick fleece of life

To cover me

In generous layers

A blanket I can pull around me

Until the oak sapling has thickened

I want to hear your voice
So name the birds for me
One by one

But not the blackbird

Lying outside your door

Not the blackbird

Perpetual Twilight

(New Year’s Eve 2014/2015)

Your poem lays unwritten
Words scatter
This voluptuous snow
Will not settle
We argue about
The special arithmetic
Of lost daylight
Not much of a plight if we lived
Beyond the North Pole Circle
Where the sun just won't bother
To spell "dawn"
And unknown beasts
Shrink to a shadow
I’d rather count the
Blooms of wild myrtle
With you, my dear
I’ll nest inside
This winter’s abattoir
I won’t mind the bite
As long as we can still fly our kite
In the soft shades
Of life in perpetual twilight

Precious Toast

By Gub, (1st of January 2015)

I wish I had more more time
I wish, I wish
that the hours that passed
were less wakening dreams
spent arguing the syllables of time zones
the moments stolen by ill feeling,
by resentments and anger, could be
spent in grace, enfolded in harmony

the miracle of that first laugh
when your filament eyes burned
light into my heart
and I knew
the colour of my universe
would forever then
be that particular
green and blue

the beat strong,
a Mariners drum -- pulsing, a shanty
rhyme --

all ardour, a vigour known only
by those whom necessity has made short work
on delivery

the reapers
time share stamping an unwelcome
return on each post..

Precious toast

Share of Grace

By Gub (1st of January 2015)


So life is hard
The distance between here
And the next place
Unpredictable, shallow.

Where will we lie?
In land deep
Where hours and days
Face off an eternity
As dull bones drum
A monotonous cortège from this soil.

Why stand we
Why run against the tide ?
All the trilling and cursing
The churning ride
Peaked and bumped
Tossed automata
By unspent gods.

Our lives decried
Tiny toys - quickly broken
Discarded, tired.

Why stand we
Why?

The glass of the fallen clock face
Is blackened,
The hallway has no door
The wall we emerge through
Naked, barefooted and cold
Is brittle
Behind lies only history,
Before: consequence,
unseen by us 

And yet we cannot be
Un-been
For our measure is not in time
Which yields nothing but more of itself.
Our meaning pointless
Yes, except in a continuum
In which no conclusion yet resides...

But accept the journey is not over
And every conscious moment
Relevant, every breath - however short, shallow, resonates with effect.

Close the door; the light.
The butterfly wing. Impacts.

And we?
Reduced, transgressive and mortally shapeless,
may yet breathe
some share of grace into the infinite plan.

Hayat Baumediene

by Gub, (10th of January, 2015)

The world wants to know You now
Your 26 year old face Cast
Like a net into the waters of w.w.w Notorious enough?
Yesterday a blank space 

Now blood fills the headlines your brotherhood wrote
Deaths that cannot be unwritten,
Nor lives redeemed against lies told.
What belief or faith could ever sanctify
Such theft...
Vandalise victims of their right to life;
Yourself, your youth, beauty, your choices
All stolen.

November

By Gub, 10th of November 2014

Through fallen leaves,
November bares the darkest scars.
Two generations felled by war and
The drum of pomp that led them underground,
Silent and broken.

How be unmoved by an ocean of blood,
And un-pumped volumes of life and love in human veins?
A loss that left a century of children
Bereft of comfort and a legacy 

Of survivors crazed by grief.

Hope can recover, just,
But some tide must turn.
Moral progress not falter
Fear of each other, vanquish,
Trust rule this new domain.

Easy to forget what precious truth
Human Sacrifice brought:
That consciousness
Remains both a gift
And a curse

If we could break the trance
Uphold a beacon - find
A masthead on which to hang
The brightest sail -
Then the unfelt pain of future
Struggles would not entirely pass
But a belief in peace
Unbroken - might be regained.