In Lieu...

(By Gub, the 18th of February, 2006, Holly Grove)
What about the dishwasher ?
Did they manage to get it fixed ?
What about the signed cheque…
Are you still vexed ?
What about all those things that are the humdrum of our lives
The dog being fed, the children’s visits, the fighting off of facial hives
What about standing in the shower – the curtain rail
Collapsing, the grass on the lawn - muddied stew,
The drains blocked, the missing sox
The patterns repeated
Hearts beating
The food
Cooked
The clothes
Unwashed
The sex
“Not had”
When sleep deprived
Work drives
Us
Apart
Together
Love lost
Another day lost
Another fuck
In lieu….

Forest

(By Gub, the 6th of February, 2004)

I go to the forest to collect wood,
Blackened boughs fallen

From where they once stood.

The reaching to heaven
A former life's prayer
Proud trunks now crumble

Particles in despair.

Amidst the grey rot
The moss and so sodden bark
Life still lingers
Persuasive to the last

The wood-louse has plundered
The strength from the grain
The centipede, milled hollows
Exposed to the rain

A circus of lice,
A phalanx of ants
Chew pulp from the rafters
Of the forest's planks

I wonder and marvel
At gods hand on the lathe
He cuts and he saws and he planes and planes
But never a drop of his effort is wasted..

(the bugs and the water
will see us all pasted )

It isn't the fated hurricane that breaks the spine
But gods provident design to steal back time...

Oh How I Love!

(By Gub, London, the 27th of November, 2013)

Such passion, weakens;
body and mind,
melts and conjuring
images of fallen leaves,
soft white petals
on open thighs
and quickening
breath
that catches loud
above the still
murmur of a summer
breeze.

earth scratches
slightly around
a twisted root and dew
rises

from
the ground
dampening the heat...

The clouds fall softly
on her flesh
darkening the folds
that lie beneath..

she turns again
and mouths her joy
promising a favour
for a kiss...

or to put it another way as Pablo Neruda said...
I want to do to you what spring does
with the cherry trees..

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