at the wedding of spring and summer

at the wedding of spring and summer

‘tis indeed a precocious season spring

that brings the bride’s maid’s train

for summer he is waiting at the altar

and the bride is readily veiled again

conspiratorially the breeze stirs in the blossom

and light in the coined confetti falls her name

summer love oh summer love

get over winter’s unrequited shame

kiss me now once more before we pledge

that when autumn’s drizzles falls 

upon the last flute of summer’s champagne

we’ll cuddle all the winter through

whispering oh i do i do love you 

until the bluebell’s melancholy call

drapes the valley’s sedge long veil

and with a sun dew mist arising 

warmly upwells our anniversary air 

around the maypole faeries dancing

lifting love-locked eyes up there 

and look and look in the blue skies

we are there again a love light pair

 

voices

 voices

so many voices

dressed up in words

so many tales

so many veils

the you in your ‘me’

is told to me in mine 

exchange is no robbery

commensurate is the rhyme

ten thousand different characters

ten thousand different voices

say

give me yours and i’ll give you mine

that sting thing feeling

 that sting thing feeling

summer ate spring

a duckling ate midges

a magpie ate the duckling

stolen

there in black and white

is the plight of romance 

at the edges it’s all midges 

there’s the bloody sting 

raw war raw war

 raw war raw war

it’s the eternal oxymoron 

to stop war you have to go to war

                 well you started it

       no i didn’t

i’m dead sure you did

anyway god is on both our sides

so we can’t lose in the end

take this bullet to heaven with you and ask

it’s over there camouflaged in mud blood mud

rs thomas

 rs thomas 

from across the border of his grave

his arrows pierce my heart

from across the fields of his thoughts

he opens up to me through a creaky gate

brushed with stars he said that tree was

as i simply sit under it in wonder 

and wander longingly through his words 

mister wonderful such an empty sobriquet 

i think he would entreat 

for it is by the pulling of the weave

that the tapestry yields its golden threads

as the saga unfolds from his limited time

it starts to rain and the wind picks us up

again his grave overflows as it will

in perpetuity is a comfortable phrase

social media

 social media

mute

the filling in a sandwich of platforms

the image in imagination 

the invagination of a thought posted

in the chameleon of a reply my colours refracted

back the thought bounces unrecognisable 

i can’t be bothered and yet i do

reply by 

mute 

muttering 

remember that tough old man

the one with the gammy leg who used to swim

across the bay in the winter

well he’s dead i said

but they were dead or

mute 

it might be a sign

a toothpick spits out a poem

and the napkin page is soiled

but unsigned

is something else i posted 

mutatis mutandis

don’t you bloody dare 

resurrection redacted

 resurrection redacted

where redaction is changed into guns

rifling through meanings that were not meant

or not meant to last 

but simply to imply by those lies 

for explicitly was frowned upon 

misinterpretation yawned wide

truth to be swallowed whole

mastication a fornication

the chewing of the cud of bovine excrement 

not meant for the herd but for the polish

on the nose ring of the bull 

led by the lanyard of the slaughterer

the hoofs clattering loud on the 

high roads of the moors of fraternity

one after the other the lies were laid down

under the feet of the gadarene swine

at the top of the precipice of their time

for perspicacity was not for them

or to ask who knows best

for the answer would almost certainly

be redacted

steam genie

 steam genie

he went to the nursing home yesterday

today the upholstery cleaner arrived

painful memories erased 

the photographs are polished bright

her tears blearing the shine

once he scored in the world cup 

now he is playing extra time

we are all offside 

he takes the penalty

three score years and ten

and ten and ten

the pump roars in the steam genie

like the crowds used to roar 

arms raised he punches the sky

i want the toilet please 

the dance of the seven sunsets

 the dance of the seven sunsets

of course it’s not blood ~ period

not all blood

you know how it is

you clean the house for the next guest 

and your hands bleed raw on the pumice rag

on the coming down of the stairs after the slow climb 

of not finding the jewel at the end of the pearl necklace

tipping the cups and reading the coffee grounds

one more scratched day on a life’s sentence 

for soon all the cherries will have been picked

the tree will be bare and the floor dry and rustling

so many trees bleeding the red sap

so many swaying to the same wind

the axeman avoids the wet trees

to build a house a home needs seasoned wood 

not too wet or dry at his defoliate touch

shiver me timbers jim lad and a bottle of rum

she is a sea of seasons and no mistake

fed by the recalcitrant tributaries of the red river

two ferries crossing that same river passing in mid stream

meet you at the island at the end of the cove is the cry

up shit creek without a paddle he thinks

but then he remembers

jam and scones and cream in the secret garden

the tide turns on its ebb and builds again to the flow

it’s spotting again 

oh please don’t rain on my parade 

again

as the north atlantic boils over

as the north atlantic boils over

the electroencephalogram of a near death experience 

a febrile convulsion at the opisthotonos of disbelief

asystole is the line taken by the gainsayers 

resuscitation refused ~ cremation direct

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