Cosmic Nudge

(13th of August, 2015) 

The Kuiper belt

Is where 
Nameless guests
Are still chewing 

Leftovers from the 

Grand Feast

Stooping
Crumbs scattered 

In the dark 

If there was music 
We only heard 
A faint murmur

What child

Tosses his pebble 
Across the pond

And waits for nine years

Singing herself to sleep 

Reading shadows

We nudged 
The God of the underworld

And when he finally turned his face towards us

Its beauty
Was carved in snow and ice 

Tree Wind Feather

(By Gub, 24th of January 2016)


Branches folded back; 
Feathers float in the wind, flutter
and do not break.

leaves swept down wind
frozen growth capturing time's
seasoned shape - petrified memory
doesn't move - it thickens root
digs down and will not wake.

where will, will go
snow white flakes of passing down
here today, gone tomorrow...

and do not break

Just firewood

(24th of January, 2016)

I held a picture of you
Sun-bleached hair
On that gilded throne
Of the kingdom
Of “All Is Possible”
And another
Drawn by the hands of someone who knew
The unmistakeable shape
Of your curved back
Twinned with the lonely tree that stood
On top of Herrick
The difference between you and me
Back then
Was that every hill I climbed
You had climbed many times before
I had arrived after the feast
Time, that hungry hyena
Had gorged itself
And spat out the bones of youth
We dragged its spine
And stuffed it in the trunk of our car
The black dog drew figures of eight around us
Unseen binds
I had dreams of transplanting
A forest inside the living-room
That day
Did we stack the building-blocks of memory?
No.
Just firewood.

Christmas, dark

(London, 24th of Dec 2015)

Christmas, dark

Fused the spark

Woke with the howling wind

Memory

A frozen street

Crackling snow and heart beat

Saw her face

Working-girl grace

Fireworks and smoke

Bride bespoke

What irks and separates us

Bejwelled nails

Polyester plaids

The tribal things

I type a poem

Love totem

On my designer sofa

(No jumping!)

New childhood has dirty feet

And knows not

The taste of first sleet

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.