Christmas day by the lake,
Early morning, a startled passer-by,
and then the sudden
shock and clatter of fast rising wings
beating against this thin altar of air,
heralds the Washington Park echo,
sacrificing this morning’s quiet
to this congregation of wayward crows
chattering, rising up, up and away
into … Read the rest
this is the way the light moves
down between the potting sheds,
creating under this shallow leaf’s rib cage
a lighter darkness,
etched all around in soft green shadow
by the brilliant warmth
of this surprise of Autumn sunshine,
carefully approaching
my cool thicket of garden
with the memory
of … Read the rest
On the 28th March 1941 Virginia Woolf committed suicide, she put on her
overcoat, filled its pockets with stones, then walked into the River Ouse
near her home and drowned herself. Her body was not found until 3
weeks later.
________________________
Having read somewhere that our bodies were made
from … Read the rest
these truths we hold as self,
evident as the pulse of the sun
in the beat of tides, saltwater
radiant in the blood and rhythm
of the saints, in the choruses
of hallelujah, beating in the walls
of cathedrals, the clamour of bells
in the coupling of twins, the roar… Read the rest
In the Christ mass wars
the advent of wreaths
in the citadel of reason
the earthquake of doubt
in the apple of time
the migration of worms
in the weight of angels
the roar of sunlight
in the transparency of stone
the crash of shadows
in the eloquence of water… Read the rest
the shattered remains
of a young bird
decomposing whatever
unsung hero music
there is in this first flight
from the nest
where an errant breeze
or weak twig
or non-cooperative wing
or too loud a noise
or too absent a parent
brings this clattering
fall from grace
when even Gods … Read the rest
the scare crowed man in his field
of yellowed rape and purple flax
in his ragged coat of many colours,
flapping on his light polished frame,
articulating life with a deadly immobility
in every dumb gesture, eloquently
booming his vacant truth, as he breezily
shakes his gloved fist, defiant to … Read the rest
a deserted hut bellowing heat into
the corner of a yellowing field of corn
raised in a faith
that stubbles the mud split earth
dried by the crackling parchment thin air
of heat seeking rain.
wishing to take all that I can from
the very atoms of this pre-storm quiet… Read the rest
in this epitaph for the flesh,
the flesh is made word
and the word heavy with light
collapsing with the patience
of a determined star
slides off the edge of a leaf
and thunders into the chosen
streams and green caverns
of the underground web
that marries water
with the … Read the rest
orange tree hill
in the pouring rain
a shining black and white
magpie stands
on the topmost branch
of a dark green fir tree
for an instant, she glows
against a very grey sky
and flies.
Romford Market
the children’s round-a-bout
empty, stilled
by a dead sparrow
and full of … Read the rest