the cat will see you now

the cat glides under my shadow 

a cadaver-cold-nosed ankle balm

her woollen tail sliding dark-ward 

beckoning down

or 

statue still upon a hare’s breath

head tilted in question to my answer

she looks straight through me 

to where the truth is

or 

as a storm ferris wheel

and wound up tight 

she ricochets off the quarrel walls 

and 

  then

as puppet-master 

she unstrings the swan-lake day

and curls to sleep and sleep

to purr the night away

70

then a sea breeze lays

its bated teenage breath,

upon the awning 

of the morning rays;

and to those yearning days,

so bleared in joy,

that sea of tears;

so minded in the eyes

that look down the ways, 

to the golden days,

beckoning even now,

and even now, 

so irresistible.

they’re abroad!

they’re abroad! 

the moon boys, cold in the blue dusk flare,

  sledging wide-eyed down the brazier nights,

and, wrapped in that primordial exhilaration, share

  the once and only, the might be mights.

and when the hearth home fades

  into the monochrome,

and when the gossamer threads

 stretch as thin as thin from home;

the boys unchained sledge down their nights,

  wild-minded under the zeitgeist moon;

and tobogganing down from their haughty heights, 

  they crash out, the great fun ended, albeit too soon.

isn’t it

yesterday 

is just behind the ridge behind you

tomorrow 

is just in front of the ridge in front of you

spin around

but

you’ll never catch sight of them

you know the past 

you guess the future 

but you’ll never see them

today is 

well

it just is

isn’t it

tell me tomorrow when today is past 

and if it did in gentle’s lightening hours

and if it did in gentle’s lightening hours,

  chance upon the dewed bird’s early worm,

and daisying with the dawn-eyed flowers,

  another summer’s day confirm.

and then they play the old songs, the summer list,

  from the days when we met our chance,

and my tears, thin as upon this morning mist,

  fall sweetly now upon your enquiring glance.

and all our knowing, twirls around that look,

  that held-breath upon the lake of time;

and love that started as a brook,

 now combines the tributaries of you are mine.

and in the darkling down slow hours

  that bat across the flitting moon,

and at these bookend days of ours,

  that came all but too soon,

we’ll fade together, day to night, 

  so hold my hand as i hold yours,

and we’ll kiss goodnight to night.

on the edge of sleep

there’s a park

between sleep and hark

where the serpent guile 

is upon the surf of dreams 

and sometimes dark

and sometimes light

and sometimes day

and sometimes night 

roundabout the park

empty swings play

and demand we cling on tight

ere we dive in

and dream the while away 

sound the alarm

sound the alarm

the colour of sand

he wanted it the colour of sand

over and over

he said he wanted it the colour of sand

as he walked past with his dog

but you have to eat i said

i don’t know why i thought that 

but i kept on telling him

over and over

you have to eat

from 6 am until 7 am

or the colour will not be real

but he was not listening 

it was as if he wasn’t there