too true to believe
all the belief systems
over all the eons
none have worked
not one deity has answered
not even to confirm that
we are a lost cause
even before we are born
the odds are stacked
the algorithms are insensate
there is nothing
and that does not answer back
even nothing isn’t it
is it
congratulations ~ great poem
unsure
the emotions work through
the lines that are knot
straight forward
are not rational
but the end is ubiquitous
in that we all end up there
different roads from different
starting pains
arrive underfoot to be ground
in tears and dust
an american poet in india
he describes the heat
(from the other side of the world)
i glance outside
and it is pissing down
i assume the melt is leaking
(from the other side of the world)
two hands drying slowly
shake on it
dusk
the crows collecting the
cackles of their day
gossiping joys away away
branches darkening now
selecting night’s perches
as the stars blink on and off
the gentle dream of a breeze
tomorrow is roosting in now
moonrise sunrise
moonrise sunrise
dare we stir the breath
of this eternal way
peeing in Rupert’s brook
if i should fly
think only this of me
he went for a pee
in some corner of a forlorn field
that is forever tinkleland
the planners planned a crescent
sadness is stoned
in the walls between them
the residents and the passersby
arcs with two ends
and no beginning
for the residual are reticent
the tenements a testament
to the planners failure to plan
for a plan B that it is plain to see
is absolutely necessary for the
stationary that are left standing still
what follows a thought flowing
is there anything as slow
as a fast flowing stream
anything more like a dream
of the banks of now and again
or the passing of time
like time passing
in a dream of a stream
that like this is flowing
ex-static
a poem that takes me
to a place i have never been
a bridge over a generation
that never meets in the middle
understanding the words
of the story unfolding
but ecstasy a word only
never a sensation
for in my day it was drowned
a night out was a back door
into darkness
ecstasy what’s that
not me
gladly
there are many things
almost too many things
that stir the heart
that raise the spirits
like sunshine upon the wind
a thought that it will return
but might not
but here it is in front of me
gladly come gladly
my son
shut that door
drafts are daft
daft are drafts
are drafts daft
daft drafts are daft
drafts of drafts are drafts
a draft of a draft is a draft
this is a daft draft
that needs redrafting
are you daft
must be a draft
because i am not daft
am i a draft
is frightening
but obviously a draft
eh?
bah you are daft
a coppiced thought
pruning my words
down to the coppice
of a tree’s branching
into thoughts of spring
the old secateur’s creaking
there’s another one
and here’s another one
wattle be enough
to thatch this thought
that the seeds need trees
to branch and grow and flower
as sunhouses need roofs
where such thoughts as these can doze
and doze and doze
valentine’s day
(a welshman unsigned)
look i’m tellin ewe un eye
she dun know eye exists
so like i’m not
i’m not sending her none
his … majesty
just shopped for it online
they only do secondhand
hand-me-down thingys
bit stained and threadbare
Dot
in her dotage
in the dementia ward
had forgotten a lot
about Dot and
it is awful sad
Dot
in her dotage
in the dementia ward
is looking for
Dot and
it is awful sad
when
when approaching the Chesapeake
the scene is cut by a snake
hurrying
with you explaining how
frogs voices can be recreated
in pigeon english
shit
the scene contracts
DC is a form of current
tingling across the unseen
unable
we retrace our steps
