social media ~ just a moment
a moment is defined
by what went before
and by what may come after
but in that moment
there are no thoughts
of before or after
it is a vacuole
in the continuum
of thought
that came to me this very moment
before i read what you said
after what i said
well you all know
where this moment of inertia
is pointing at
autumn web
all the baby words
glowing
rushing in every direction
until the husk of the poem is left
degaussed of attraction
ten thousand new webs form
trapping ten thousand readers
but you knew that didn’t you
you said we would say that
and so we do
a poem fattens upon its readers
and
flattered by a pregnant pause
it is springtime again
the glass cabinet
infant school’s first lesson
there were drums in the music cabinet
they gave me the triangle
to ding ding ding listen
the world is a shop window
and you have not the mental money
and yet ……… ding !
come back
oh come back to my past
and ride a three wheeler with me
i’ll call you by another name
and you can call me silly
but its not silly is it
please say it isn’t
to peddle a dream
an old dream of a young love
but it wasn’t you
was it?
mirrorball
turning in the fast music
turning in the slow music
always at the same pace
reflections come
reflections go
with stuporific regularity
images imagine images
imagine a mirror ball
sharing nothing at all
but everything in the dance hall
is spinning laughter’s daughter
and sunny boy sunny boy
maybe tonight maybe
it takes an age
at 6 you want to be 7
at 10 you want to be a teenager
at 20 you just want to have fun
at 30 the car the house
the family
from then on etc becomes etc
then at a certain age
you no longer have an age
just thoughts
about the past
but mostly about your glasses
the book of times
observe
how quiet the dust is
settling light
a prodigal thought demands
the vellum of the fatted calf
to bind yon book of parables
leaves rolling upon stoney ground
or waiting upon these ebony shelves
bending reads in the winnowing of time
a long sigh at the end of a finger
pointing at the inner sanctums
that books hold dear
so quietly is a quietly finger
running down the faded golden spine
of a book of all our times
locked by a grasped clasp
