Wednesday, 26 August 2015

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

Friday, 14 August 2015

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