Lessons from Trees

Last night's frantic branches now nestle,
long shorn of hair,
dignified in recovery.

Resolute, versatile, vertical,
forming your bead curtain
to a turquoise glass horizon:

showcase of blighted blackbirds,
occasional burgeoning aviation,
free to fly this side of heaven.

Still, cradling in your fingers,
oversized, precarious twists of twigs,
last season's leftovers,
soon to be
recharged with dawn song shelter.

You are a year's experience.

Emit us your order
as you stand and
curse our chaos.

Teach us dancing
when the storm comes.

Have a heart for the homeless.

You wait to blossom in the sun;
you rest while others run.

Landgulls

White trash-lovers,

Freaks for all they’re worth,

Anarchy in beady, brazen faces,

Seizing stares,

Standing ground.

Bland, gallus, gunslingers

Striding rooftops,

Gate-crashing dawn,

With punk rock squawks,

Claiming squatters’ rights

On stick legs, starfish feet.

Cold-calling meddlers,

Trawling inland,

Surfing the streets:

Scoping, probing, locating.

Beak-first gamblers,  

Spinning laziness into recycling.

Maybe a nuisance,

But never gullible.

With the sun..

Wearing wrap-around seduction.
A blindfold angel in black.

Mirrors to glimpse
a fine troubled prince?

Dressed-up pathway to the soul
banned,
in exchange for intrigue.

An aviator blocking out the skies?

Shaded, jaded movie-star,
behind the wheel,
top down in the wind?

Like a niqab
inverted
your face is somewhat free.

(But the eyes have it.)

For all we know
the whites of your sight
are prized pearls
within shut shells.

May this band of tan
leave us wondering.

Could be anyone.

Just for today.

Designed
to smoulder the sun away.

You gave me you

You
brought me from a kernel,
light/nocturnal Tendril,
hidden seed defined,
emerged,
to grow,
refined,
pushed through bruised reeds,
renewed in time,
clung to the vine;
grafted in the madness,
seeping, swooping sadness
travelled into branches,
stripped naked by the wind,
cold exposure glint,
relieved,
leaves gone
with nothing left to give,
you gave me you,
and left me nothing left,
to need,
for me to live,
you gave me you,
and let me breathe.

Shells

Waves echoing inside us,
tides, here and gone,
on sea-shores pulsing,
inclining into sinking sands,
dousing every grain,
wiping clear the memory
of days of sun and rain.

Back to the ocean,
water will relent,
exposing sea-shells,
silent,
side by side,
holding the crescendo,
you and I,
within our curved backs,
beauty in the ridges,
ready for the call of the wind,
we wake.

Flight of Weakness

Out of the ashes
weakness rises,
a bird unfettered
feathers flying,
the blue sky tips her hat/
she soars the currents,
no preening power postures,
serving as imposters,
weakness wills against herself
and wins,
instead,
strength's favour
as she grins,
and bears the wind,
she flies against,
and in,
and swoops and swirls
though few can see,
she pecks a paradox in me,
reveals her morning song
of weak but strong,
trills last but first,
the meek inherit Earth,
the born perform rebirth,
she flies: the face of the absurd,
a most peculiar kind of bird.

On Hold

In your grasp,
Fingers clasp
A ring round wrist,
Thumb prints nestle,
Digits wrestle into
Flesh and skin,
Limb and bones,
Held and honed
Richly owned.

When this grip,
Began to slip:
With sweat-filled palms,
Veins at risk,
Your holy hold
Refused to twist,
Stuck with this son,
Till he caught on...

A Short Walk in Three Acts.

        (1)
Another trip
Another trap
Atop the planet,
Worried, so hurried,
Skating thin ice,
Arms and legs going goofy,
Windmilling for balance,
Stopping from toppling,
In sheer silent fury.

        (2)
Pausing,
Under touring skies,
To breathe in
Painted fresh, fresh, frescoes,
Relentless brush-strokes,
Dripping from your eye-line,
Murals from your mouth,
As clouds your sunset shroud.

          (3)
Readied now,
To journey home,
And realigned to
Bow.

Promise in the Year of Election...

Election talk goes,
tic-a-tac-a, tic-a-tac-a,
down the decades,
dribbling the ball of blame,
never tackling,
psycho-babble blocking out the airwaves,
debating us to death
from malleable manifestos,
passing, passing,
never scoring.

There boldly go this season's
charading prophets,  
cybering strong and proud,
best suits,
pick off babies in the crowds,
calculated, sound-bite smiles,
glow wild,
to buy us into line,
still, we're content to buy them time
and time and time again
to break their 
promises, promises...

At Home

Smile on your face,
laughter in your voice,
tea just on,
loving people,
having them round,
making them at home
right where you were,
caring, sharing
all of what you had,
scenes of scones unfold:
one hundred in your kitchen
can't be bad,
all-out concern your goal,
you made us proud
to call you friend,
courageous, faith-filled, to the end,
making heaven smile,
you're home at last.




In memory of Janice Davis who died April 1st 2015. (Jan is currently settling into her new place in heaven, and is, I am sure, smiling...)

One Saturday in November...

Tennis balls torpedo town,
widow smiling in a hearse
stifles mercy,
sun plops round
4 by 4 treats gravel badly,
glory gone, glum pumpkin shivers,
rain rehearses, monsoon moon,
sugared water tips the balance,
mood enhancers lift the gloom,
cheer the nation,
pitch invasion,
how many voices are in the station?

first thing

dawn songs
strike and treat
your cares away,
first thoughts
stifled on a chirping scale
of octave-scent oxygen
wept through windows
worldwide,
as if to say
don't start your day
just listen
still and lay.

Always Dancers

gymnast days
forward
roll
against the flow,
with the satisfaction of wave completion,
a jet-skier tight-ropes far from shore,
obedient dog, hot under the heels,
sand kingdoms rise and fall,
in the tiptoe of the orange ball,
Africa wakes in the mist,
as birds like daylight bats skim by,
across the silver surface of the deep,
Nations try,
and always dancers we must be...



http://sciencekings.bandcamp.com/track/always-dancers-2

groundbreaker

Soul soil,
earthy and earthly,
willing for water,
voracious for fruit:
feed up the fallow,
ecstatic the clay again,
love joy
peace patience,
reseeded for good;
loam of the Spirit
unseen in mystery
sifting the wilting,
poised for the rush,
shooting through darkness,
planting the afterlife,
grounded in ashes,
waking the dust.

mind games

turmoil tumble-dries driftwood
inside this minecraft mind,
set on satisfaction;
thoughts like deviating chinese whispers
swirl this snowstorm,
brewing a broken brouhaha of
flotsam and jetsam,
turning symphony cacophonous,
a scream in a beautiful dream,
for all the world
a storm in a handle-less teacup,
no pick-me-up,
hanging in the balance,
unseen.

ghost churches/new haunts

Ghost churches,
where somehow some forgot their place,
and lost and sold the plot
(the Spirit shown the door,
still pain creaking in their stoic joists)
retreat, rebrand and resurrect:
your carpet warehouse,
your local Indian restaurant,
a night out at the theatre,
or the perfect home
among the graves,
a place to lay your weary head.

Unsuspecting,
souls stop to sip this new communion,
with gone
generations mingling in the ether,
their trapped psalms jammed into the brick-work,
their spoken blessings looping onto shoppers,
diners, leisure lovers
in these gifted buildings,
sent to the wind,
to be transformed again,
when Spirit, once more welcome,
settles in.

catch them while you can...

bright ideas
lurk
in darkest thickets,
prone to prowling,
focusing their prey,
their sinews itching but
biding their time,
staring you out...

Pouncing,

headlong into your psyche,
letting you deflect them
or forcing you to face them down,
devour them whole or
consume a fleshy bite,
in this fight or flight,
for the right,
to feed afresh

from the dying carcass of your mind.



Shared with poets united

take a break

sip a cup of cappuccino
and
control your pulse:
settle for a second,
flat the landscape of your scan.
You can chip the dust from the unjust,
retake the territory of your time,
and fight against your mind,
breathe in,
breathe out,
what hope we have
against our doubts
alive, alive-oh,
sip slow
sip slow,
sip now.




  

Palms

A shattering jar
emits the essence of extravagance, 
her fragrance-filled palms,
from her brokenness,
anoint 
and 
pour a perfumed provocation,
spirit consumed
in worship; 
forgetting the poor
and jolting Judas.
Kissing in the coming kingdom,
touching her maker,
skin on skin,
placing
hair in hands on feet,
beckoning burial,
anticipation in the scene,
the scent of intimacy 
rising.

By day,
holy feet hang,
inches above dusty ground,
on cloaks laid out,
king condescending on a colt,
as psalms through palms resound,
ecstacy
from a praying, baying mob,
(this place is rigged to fever pitch,
in parting praise)
rhythm in the waves, demands to save,
his heartbeat for the end of days...
 
Four sleeps on,
reaching his cross-road,
hand branches are bloodied,
two palms,
split and pierced,
the world hanging by his fingertips,
when clouds eclipse the crowd 
the sun goes down...

Saturday 06:30

Atari shapes of passing headlights
slip linear shadows across this wall,
as raindrops snare the rooftops firmly.

A pin-prick watch insists on joining silence,
and torchlight floods down on my hand,
to cast this mighty pen in silhouette.    

Outside my duvet savannah,
lazy Saturday, no agenda,
waits skulking in the black to pounce.

The day will come, sure as the sun,
a cappuccino in the kitchen,
signalling that we are home.