Poem 172: The Advent of Wings
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
Poem 171: The Bird Table
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
Poem 170: One More Step/ 28th March 1941.
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
Poem 169: A Clash of Symbols
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
Poem 168: A Flood of Owls
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
Poem 167: The Remains of the Clay
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
Poem 166: Straining for Speech
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
Poem 165: Les Enfants du Paradis
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
Poem 164: Stone Grave
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
Poem 163: Romford
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
Poem 162: Corelli the Tourist Visits London
le gran tourissimo begins
on this English train of thought
gazing off owlishly through
these greater spotted windows
at the leaving trees
fastly disappearing
down this last darkly
grounded woodland avenue
of disbelief eloquently monologued
by this autumnalled landscape
of grey bowing the Italian knave
to a sepulchuraled church
inspired … Read the rest
Poem 161: Clacton Hymn
looking back in sunlight over our shoulders
at the blowing wave dappled sea
through our light enamored eyes,
with the sister of mercy still passing by
flying her habit against the restless
and holy pentecoastal sky,
she smiling inwardly and outwardly
as we both heard the crippled lady
in the … Read the rest
Poem 160: Clacton-on-Sea_Walk-on-Water
looking back in sunlight over our shoulders
at the blowing wave dappled sea
through our light enamoured eyes
with the sister of mercy still passing by
flying her habit against the restless, holy
and pentecoastal wind, she smiling
inwardly and outwardly, as we both heard
the crippled lady in the … Read the rest
Poem 159: Roses and the Burning Brush
in the diminishing countryside north of London
flaming in a field of snow, one foreleg raised
the fox, held still by the pounding Brit Rail train
pouring into the late December afternoon like a
charneled sluice gate, producing this one astounding
bell like view of the fox in the snow … Read the rest
Poem 158: Gethsemane
The mirror of the day falling into the night,
the warm rock of ages now cooling
rapidly into a pocket of soft air above
a pool of water, sheltered in a cleft, for me
there has always been a snake in Eden
forked lightning, cleft tongue ,and rapt
in swaddling … Read the rest
Poem 157: Jaguar Woman
this train of lost souls pinched grudgingly
from the salt of the earth,
rolling through the wheat fields
and stations of this cross country trip,
but be sure to cross your heart first
and hope to, she said,
this jaguar woman, so full of night,
full of flight, leaning to … Read the rest
Poem 156: Pas de Deux
the evening is hers,
so she dreams
of sitting in her alcove of light,
easy breathing
floating the world,
she moves in the tides
of her purpose,
rolling gently from side
to side her nakedness
burnishes the wood,
her eyes are drawn steel.
She dreams of dancing
her light in … Read the rest
Poem 155: In Pursuit of Reflective/Responsive Surfaces
blood and oil sparingly
spread onto a canvas
of dead leaves,
adding yet more stillness
to a stunning act of non-violence,
now sent skating, spinning,
across this highly polished
hardwood floor
all the way to the feet
of her slow motioned sitting
on a white cane chair,
in a pool … Read the rest
Poem 154: Prelude to in Pusuit of Reflective/Responsive Surfaces
A man made entirely of flowers stands in a greenly shadowed doorway.
The pre-dominant flowers in his make-up are lily-of-the-valley, morning glories poppies, bluebells, and clematis. His face has all the usual features. His eyes appear as deep pools of radiant darkness. He smells of plant life and freshly turned … Read the rest
Poem 153: November Stone Post Script
winter evening
by the lake
crows on the ice
fade into black.
______________
down the blue sky
a river of black crows
descending-settling,
re-leaf the winter trees.… Read the rest
Poem 152: The November Stone
in the stonecutters cottage
listening in the silence
after the rain, sheltered
under the eaves
and the deeper
silence still when
the dripping stops.
all is naked ,
bone locked
warm alive ,
and secure.
there is a train
in the distance
heard not seen
sound travelling
travelling light.
she … Read the rest
Poem 151: Prelude to the November Stone
Deep in the forest of dark grey green, on a small island
in the middle of a steeled lake, a man and a woman who hardly
know each other, are taking shelter in an abandoned stone hut.
They have been making love, and have been in love for longer
than … Read the rest
Poem 150: Leaving the Raft Half Submerged
from the edge of the lake
half submerged
in the dreaming blue shade,
a beam of wood
etched by the bright light
of the mulatto air draws
and ripples the water
into a hesitant space
that gently acknowledges
all that has gone before
of the ghosts
and wishing wells that … Read the rest
Poem 149: Letting an Angel Pass
a yellow wind into the green sail of the morning
flashes a crimson wing as the angel opens her eyes,
and you can see that you can see,
this rainbow shining cloud, sun becoming day
in her smiling invocation of the interior plane,
moving from limitless blue to turquoise
heralds … Read the rest