Wednesday 6 November 2024

do you remember that day

 do you remember that day


today

when you arrive back 

on the plane

i will be waiting 

like i waited all those years ago 

that first time

when the snow swirled 

and you were late and

you ran all the way

do you remember that day

and i kissed you 

that way

in the lamplight

your eyes wide

i remember it as if it were yesterday 


i have been waiting ever since

it’s out the result is in

 it’s out the result is in


when all is said and done

they have gone and spoken

but what have they gone and done

what have they gone and said

Tuesday 5 November 2024

d-read

d-read


orthodontisty-toothed smiles

sneer-stained with newspaper ink

from too much chewing the cud 

of things and things   the things

beyond the ability of words

to change not one jot

spit


 

Monday 4 November 2024

oh to

oh to


the words are closing in with the dusk

eyes narrowing to the silver of the moon

some words are fulsome

some from the dark side

the dotted penumbra 


oh to be eclipsed 

to meet another poet

who outshines me

to climb another step

to the stars 


there are more words lurking out there 

i can feel them circling circling

the fire in me is dying tonight 


if I dream of tomorrow 

i might catch them fast asleep  

frozen icarus

 frozen icarus 


trying to grow an icicle 

i broke my mother’s best china jug

not even forgiveness 

from beyond ghetto grave

a finger wags

as i recoil from the memory 

Sunday 3 November 2024

the gone dusk is almost

 the gone dusk is almost


the losing of light at dusk is almost physical 

drawing the blood brain downward 

with its transmogrification of

the leaves that lose what autumn colour

they proposed was the old story

for not even ghosts are this cold


in the heart of watching it drain away

my lips slow in their wording

the cup to my lips poised in a

foreverness of the non-time 

of this lonely soul’s wondering 


where is the light going 

or is it the darkness that is coming

as i stare at its storing 


… it is gone


and no poem will ever bring it back


sometimes the flagellation of uninvited words 

has the disappointment of youth’s insistence 

that they know 


pitch black is almost a consummation 

on the flight home

 on the flight home



up there                in the air 

she is a longing 

                     floating 

                               down 

                           the sundown 


look how sheepish the clouds are looking up                  to her

       as she looks down 

on me


far away the sun rides home

tomorrow maybe?   


maybe!