Wednesday 29 September 2021

hey you

 hey you


posing

for that photograph 

yes you the dead ones 

calling nay demanding

we go back

to when it could be posed

the question 

you have to ask yourself

of them

did you see me all these years away

and if so

what did you say

what would you say

to me

now

if you were here today

looking at me posing for a photograph

in just that way

hey?

Sunday 26 September 2021

rumours

 rumours


scabied in streets that burrow under the names of the old wars 

and the theatres of the old wars with those odd names

balaclava inkerman sebastapol streets away from

the docks that named cuba row and the cape horner 

and the copper men who named grenfell park and

the other wars that named rifleman’s row and taplow terrace

blued in grime now and smoked of long days and long pasts

days of erasure’s money in the chapel’s wooden collection boxes

velvet lined with stain-glassed pulpit talk and having said that

it is said that never again is said over and over again

until the next war takes them away and returns another name

for another street for the children to ignore in their games

of war cornered on two streets the blank street signs waiting 

for the halls of the dead to write again  all change  all change

for this street is a one way ticket to the hallows of the dead 

where the victors smile at the setting of the sun remembering

in a town somewhere just like this one the streets ring out in silence

that the rumours are true and the names speak the truth

happen that they were there and that we are here remembering

how those funny names are anagrams for the blood that was spilt

our illiteracy at the power of the touchstones under our fingers

to read the mapped streets of time gone silent and at our reticence 

to walk slowly back and to think the awful thought

that these names are still screaming for their mothers





Thursday 23 September 2021

no day

 no day


now 

at this moment in time

all of us will have no tomorrow 

eventually

but of course others will


but soon

and sooner than you think

no one will have a tomorrow 

the concept of tomorrow will end

and all the poems ever written

will not be read 

all dead   all dead


so

if your poem does not work today

then it never will

still 

we will write them don’t we

i don’t think we should bother 

but we will

it seems to be the saying that is the thing

even saying   the end


but there will be no real end

for only the living can see an end

but

to all the dead tomorrows 

nothing 


just look at me 

writing this to tell you not to

write like this

thinking about no tomorrow’s

don’t you think it a bit daft

well

do you


you’ll better be quick to reply

before the quick and the dead

are just

the dead and the dead

forever unread

Wednesday 22 September 2021

don’t

 don’t


dare touch a word

that may bring the edifice down

a keystone 

  or

a lattice bridge

linked by words

that cross a gorge

of don’t 

     don’t look down

never  ever

undo a line

  for

it may be your last


c

  h

    a

      n

        c

          e

ouch

 ouch

i bust my leg under a harvest moon

blood red was my pained expression 

oh let this be a lesson

do let this be a lesson

watch your step on a steeply rock

or you’ll live to regret the occasion 

the last haiku

 the last haiku


all we have is

distilled in the spirit

of one last haiku


evaporating 

all the tears of our lives

for no tomorrow


for never ever

was there a yesterday

with no tomorrow 


and here we are

burning all the warning notes

no sports day today


a temperature 

coming down with a virus

please excuse us


if we don’t play

the game is nearly over

and the substitute 


refuses to play

for this game is not fun

any more than you


are for telling how it

upsets everybody now

please go away now


and let me sleep 

under this indian summer 

of sunshine 


too late in the year

this winter of looking back

is cold comfort


new year’s eve 

has left the party early

it is over now


all we have left

is distilled in the spirit

of one last haiku


a valediction 

floating down the Acheron

on the pyre of the world


at the choke point 

of this extinction event 

it is the thermophiles

that will once more rule the world

that will once more rule the world





Tuesday 21 September 2021

ah fall

 ah fall


fall

awful

awe fall

awe full

oh fall

ah fall

i do love you so

spare me your blushes

your red lips of parting


and fall into my arms 

here on the grass

under the leaves

sleep with me in untill breakfast

springs the thaw t

think the thought


fall for me now

right now

please


for in there lies

 for in there lies


it’s the hormones 

the bloody hormones

and the genes 

the elusive epigenetics

the neurotransmitters

the up and down regulators of

disbelief 

~ if ever you thought about it ~

that it cannot be

you poor sod

  you poor sod

procreate and die

and believe the lies

for in there lies …

Sunday 19 September 2021

SLAUGHTERHOUSE

 SLAUGHTERHOUSE


not the slaughterhouse 

or the slaughter-house 

but the SLAUGHTER house

the HOUSE of slaughter


     SLAUGHTERHOUSE


where lives are slaughtered 

you aughta remember that

it’s no laughing matter


SLAUGHTERHOUSE


i hope you are stunned 

Saturday 18 September 2021

the cat’s pause

the cat’s pause


reading a book of poetry 

the cat’s tail swipes me 

this or swipes me that or

swipes me that one stanza 

before my hypnot-eyes

and now and then it starts again 

and so it goes this rhyme this time

this swish this swot to stop and

stop stop and look and read on

rueing her unruly bookmark tail 

until she sort of sleeps and

sort of purrs and i dare turn a page

or repeat a line until it arrives well-

drilled by the ratchet of the cat its

tail in good time and

it is a good line  

there you see

but i am never too sure 

if she’s talking to me

reading my book of poetry 


 

call me trig

 call me trig


call me trig

obviously an obelisk 

far and away

a love triangle 

but that’s not the point

is it

mind if i call you theo dolite

seems to suit you all round

now where were (are) we

Thursday 16 September 2021

Tenby

 Tenby


sedate

breakfast on a thought’s walk

into the colour of the day’s streets

the harbour on the lanyard of the tides

strolling each of the promenades 

be it north beach or south beach or

the headland where the bandstand frames the island

the day trippers boated away as pilgrims for the day

thinking of dinner in the lit little laced windows

with time enough to linger over a day settling into

the dusk of a long sun’s thoughts brought home

Wednesday 15 September 2021

this breeze

 this breeze 


it is almost a chant

this breath of a wave  on the shore of the sea

and me in the sun  on a rock  on that shore 

my back against a rock  warm and secure

in the thought of this breeze  where has it been

and where is it going  so slow and serene

a reprise of my childhood of all my tomorrows 

happy beside me  it is not sorrow you see

but blue sky in thinking  around the rock corner 

where all of my breathing  now shallower and shallower 

and not one deep in thought  but a shallow paddle dabble 

in the warm sand  the soft sand  to burrow and borrow

this moment in time  stopped on my brow

for now everything is just beautiful 

for now  it’s just now

but how can i stop the one o’clock dog

 but how can i stop the one o’clock dog


but how can i stop the one o’clock dog

that disturbs my slumber many a night

where the owl talons grip the bough


when the moon halts pale it’s face agog

and mice quiver and dash in fright

but how can i stop the one o’clock dog


that clouds the face of a waiting frog

by the pool that my neighbour built just right

where the owl talons grip the bough


sweet dreams in splinters that jam the cog

quick hand me the dagger for bloody might

but how can i stop the one o’clock dog


and bid it curl to sleep like my sleeping mog

one eye open and one eye tight

where the owl talons grip the bough


how i wish the owners deep in a bog

leaving their inconsideration to the dying light

but how can i stop the one o’clock dog

where the owl talons grip the bough

Tuesday 14 September 2021

dusk on the boathouse at laugharne

 dusk on the boathouse at laugharne 


hush

listen

listen to the ripple of a long thought

the landing of the dusk

a wing’s dust away 

floating inwards on a rising tide

the plop of a fish

the blink of an eye

and it’s gone

set in a sundown 

that breath

that sigh

yes he did

aye 

just there

where his candlelight 

waxed vast in

the moon’s slow trail

across the estuary

of his laying

writing poetry

 writing poetry

is like riding a bucking bronco across a field

to be thrown over the hedge at the other side

and then to watch over the gate as the beast gallops away

and to say to yourself 

my god  that was some ride

i think i’ll call that horse …

Sunday 12 September 2021

The Cove

 The Cove


we are going for a dip down there


we are going for a dip


we are going for a dip


we are going for a dip down there

Saturday 11 September 2021

tripping ~ over the seaside

            tripping ~ over the seaside


dad wore a pak-a-mak over his suit and tie

mum a concertina plastic hood over a blue rinse

on the beach   after the rain had stopped

sitting sideways on drying sand looking at the camera

new quay wales and an iron slipway rail behind them

and the hotels behind that and the sea somewhere else

somewhere else the picnic bus was parked and we looked

all around the seaside town for meat and two veg and

a cup of tea as nice as homemade behind lace curtains

the sun toppling over the time of day longing to be

out of mum and dad’s hands where i could explore

things that were not the things i knew but the things 

i knew were new to me all this way in the coming on

the bus that every summer repeated   soon you will see

and the sea will remember you even if you do not remember

the seaside tripping over that day’s yearning

and again and again over today’s yearning 

that it was all yesterday once more

Friday 10 September 2021

the monuments

 the monuments


the monuments

who will clean them

when we are all gone

whose hands will brass

the shiny dog’s nose

the ear or the brow

the patina will grow

on

the monuments

who will remember

that the memories are gone

that there is no one to know

that there is no one no more 

un-patted the patina will grow

and will grow

on

the monuments

toppling one after one

as the subsidence of existence 

the sink hole we know

that there will be no one

to peer into the hole

for the whole of existence 

is gone and we don’t know that

on 

the monuments 

no bird shit is sitting now

on the angels the patina

of lichen does grow

but the songs of the birds 

was cooked up long ago

and no one 

no one does know

on

the monuments 

not one inscription is new

for the hand with the chisel

is no longer sinew

but bones that are pointing

and that is the point

that no one

no one

will ever know

now




Wednesday 8 September 2021

but i didn’t

i should have asked her

the moon all rolled up

in the sea-smoothed glass

where are your children now

that the tide has turned and

scattered them like stars

sugaring the sun seas

shattering the memories

but i didn’t ask her 

Monday 6 September 2021

DELAYED

 DELAYED 

your funeral is delayed

CANCELLED

your life has been cancelled 

but your funeral is delayed

please remain seated

you will have to change at St Peter’s

please have your visas ready for inspection

do apologise for your plight

it might help

but then again  it might not

Sunday 5 September 2021

on a summer evening

 on a summer evening 


on a summer evening 

through an open window

motorbikes

close ~ distant ~ close 

distant ~ music ~ loud 

mumbling

    and a barking dog 

oh yes ~ always

a barking dog

insists

Saturday 4 September 2021

a summer evening at the seaside

 

a summer evening at the seaside


a mighty asynchronous frisson

this sunlight upon the sea and

how could i even attempt to reckon

what it is saying to me


for this look from shore to furthest point

where my eyes flow to and fro

and the sun upon my browning skin

my sighs upon the sea you know


how one’s thoughts bestride the far horizon’s

promises of childhood’s pirate lore

and on and on and over we go to

where the luxurious breezes know


that never could that coral island

ever be more than a mystery to me

and yet and yet my thoughts do sail

across the seven seas for


never it seems this day will behave

like all the days before

and moving under a full thought’s sail

for ever and ever more and


not many evenings sing like this

and not many sunshines lie this close

or on and on an eye full shine

as mine do in these summer’s clothes


warmth lies as a blanket 

upon a breath’s belie that

the stars tonight will cool and

a moon wine will sing that a night is day

until dawn darns the socks

of the fools that drool in


lingering and waiting 

and in waiting linger

until the end begins 

and the end is nigh 

and life begins begins

across this sea 


decipher now what this means to me 

in the cacophony of screams

and children’s shrieks galore 

and glory be upon a wave upon a wave 

enjoyment purely purely be the sea

that rolls up upon this earnest shore

until it finally covers me