Lostening

We blink at each other
thru some fug of confusion
The slow eyeball roll
to a grasp for conclusion
I hear your noise distant
As when wisps of mists cloud
All the words that you say
And I blink in ascent

Some time some time ago
we sang the same lyrics
Your accented verbs
lit my mind with loves fire
Attuned to the vibrant chords
Lept from your full lips
I wondered the musical
majesty of breath

Yet here we sit side by side
Tone deaf and mystified
Straining to glean
just a semblance of sense
I hear you, don’t get me wrong,
My ears are not yet deaf
What i hear is not quite though what your tongue likely meant

Autumn 2016

Apparently it’s autumn in Otham
Though nobody’s told the sun
A parched carpet of crunchy leaves
Adding the “Shh” to our school run

Crunchy leaves

Land Gone Wrong

Finish it, land the final blow!
End this petty session
in life that always carries on!
Nothing left
and not a note to follow.
Take last shouts and Bellow…
There’s no one left to see the end;
This end!

I saw!
I, me!
I was there (among the crowds ~
the ones too quiet /
the few too loud).
The first day, week, month
then the year!
It was all set fine
so fine so near.
A bright beginning – freshest starts,
grabbed all the attentions
of fresh starry hearts…
Dragging them,
pulling them,
coaxing them on!
Those hearts that were keen ~
these hearts that belong
to the new ones
the fresh ones.
These beasts from the start!

And pretty were tunes
and beauteous songs ~
A land was delivered;
a hope without wrongs.
All of us hearts – crammed,
stuck to the brim!
But we loved it
and breathed it
and lived for the grin.
This new time was naked and nimble
we knew it;
our privileged parties just living along…
Invited
well treated
well governed and loved!
In their ignorant rapture ~
we drank and were drunk…

Then slow
it turned sour:
Though new,
not denied,
not quite new enough!
And though nobody lied,
there was no full truths taken ~
no fresh breaths of air…
So: slowly
we grasped it,
us budding bright hearts.
The ones who had followed:
the ones most beguiled.
A raucous mass
trailing
an order now failed.

So here’s where you enter
the end of old news.
The fall of more loved ones
all hearts cracked
en mass…
A tender old tale,
the past all encased
but now we are lost now,
and losing our way.
This new land was pretty ~
yet fated to change!
We killed it
and broke it.
Lost lowly, and dying
a few of us cheered
but most were left crying!
It’s finished
it faltered.
We move on to the
New!!

Early Spring Breeze

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
How your guts do shake us
Flattering trees so bare (so rare)
Brushing back branches
Tumbling hair

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
Waking and trembling our slumber
What do you prove
With abandon removed
As tomorrow sees roads blocked by timber

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
Sent swift on us from Northern air
Where is spring’s warm touch?
The calm we love so much?
When will – your point made – you play fair?

Ooo tinned breeze of early spring
We know you mean no harm
But how you crash,
Smash, Lawn furniture
Still raises our alarm.

magnolia-198138_1920

the rain falls

a dropping constant in today’s bleak rush for tomorrows motional ideas and rewards, grasped at for the sake of change regardless. As home coughs its overused phlegm up from way deep back in time. As the race to use every last atom of life rushes ever onwards, screeching past all who ever thought they wanted it and past the next, tirelessly marking second-hand starts or bristling with excitement for the latest ‘greatest’ which often proves merely more complicated and intensive than those passed. Whilst every hour, by weight, more rain falls.

So where do all the puddles flow? Not steamed away by a sun too well concealed out in space by vast gatherings of carbon clouds, blotting all but the invisible rays of dancing ultra violets from brightening up our mornings. Deprived of heat waters fail to boil, they inch up round our lives – flooding street and town, home and farm, plants and pumps. Icily imbibing our land saturated in chemicals and yesterdays dead, stirring up the mud like so many should have done so long ago. And every hour, by weight, more rain falls.

What can we do now, but watch and wait? Listening to the stories and rhetoric of unlucky leaders flailing in time, as changes rush by them in plastic and radio waves too fast for too few to notice, far less appraise or employ. Living in the echo of our shared histories – bent only on eschewing blame – even as dark fault-lines creak and fissure under their own weight, in greed… Whilst every hour, by weight, more rain falls.

  • edited (improved?) and reposted from August 2015. Here’s a morose reflection on how things are for a Tuesday evening…
Rainfall in Venice

Rainfall

Mighty Blighty

Bogged in time.
Lost your flow?
Gave up the line?
Where did all your ideas fly to?
Quite lost and loose they blew!
Free from your head…
As quick as they’re aired
each got up and fled!

How swiftly life drags
at this wiry frame
while fixing the body
you gave up the game!
So tough to accept that
rough wings have been clipped.
Though your ire is risen
there’s no ways left to trick.

Each menial moment:
this drowning you feel –
no chance of escape –
you’ve no means of appeal!
So remember,
sweet Britain,
next time you’ve the chance –
grab tight hold of life
don’t just give it a glance!

Wrap up in the throb
in the beat
of the pulse
and give up at your peril:
Let go? –you’ll lose hope.

What to do

Write like a madman,
Write for the thrill
Capture your basemost thoughts and then think them deeper.
Scribble the pictures
For the sightless to see
Bring on the rapture, conjure the melee.

In rivers of lines
In puddles of rhyme
Seducing saturated minds
Time after time

This melody vital to motion itself
Exposing the night time
and serfdom
and spells

This is what to do to write…