carbon capture

 carbon capture

thirty pieces of silver 

we have been sold out

they* have fed the gas meter

for the pyre of the world

*The British Government

logomentis

 logomentis 

it’s just a bloody logo

the world is burning and we are ALL responsible

we are but a transient spark in the electromagnetic spectrum of infinity

X ? do me a favour!

hey ~ come to think of it    ‘ ? ‘     might be a suitable logo

he X claimed 

twit

the beach at rhossili

 the beach at rhossili

torn along the west wind

blown along this sheep field shore

fox-gloved 

        adder-snaked 

                      warm-stoned

let your tired eyes long explore

the worm-beach run out to burry holmes 

let these island tides break for evermore 

RS Thomas

RS Thomas

the cold stones burn in the furnace of his heart

quenched and annealed his poetry

burns cold wet to touch

red hot we back way

the way he looked down 

the way he looked up

at them dying in their deaths

flying with his cloud-gated birds

over the grass whitening

seething as he scythed 

the winds that stir us all

under the moon tree’s shadows

of a turned page

in his cottage corpus

silence 

monumental

 monumental

a moment 

is only a moment

in time

without time

especially what appears to be time passing fast 

a moment would be timeless

i perceive

therefor i 

was

       am

will be 

just you wait there

vacant vacation

 vacant vacation

the sad spectacle of sun glasses in an airport lounge

life in lateral inversion 

a mind full of sunshine

rises 

up through the clouds

down with a bumpy landing

reality in the arrival lounge 

my name written on a card

i remember who i am

indentations

 indentations

what stories will that rock tell

those hand-shaped indentations 

as smoothed as umbrage

holy water and sea spray

fill my every day as another tale

falls down along the wakening

storm petrels wail

all is forever

as still as the movement

of the sky of moon shine

on a wetness that beckons 

come closer

come closer

now!

harms

 harms

and the call to arms went drifting

as it had done those years and more

for the men had drawn and quartered 

as the moon-blood silted veins

pushed n bashed the doors down 

where the bairns were drawn and slaughtered

all those innocent years ago

 on the safe side

at the seaside

old men compare medications

wives compare their husbands 

over cream teas

twitter aye not

 twitter aye not

things written on twitter drive me to write

the right of reply is trite

but try as i might

i cannot resist sending a poem as a reply 

to a poet

o aye o aye 

no one has twitter marked down as a muse

of course it is you who are my muse

coming ready or not

i said

 i said

i’m sorry to say

when i die i will be dead

and gone

you might find me in my words

but alas i will no longer exist

even more so when you die

does that give lie to what i say

it’s a conundrum this humdrum life

‘die it’s the last thing i’ll do’

i said he said 

understand now

old school cries

 old school cries 

there was always one with a squint in pebble glasses 

one who picked their nose and ate it

licked their fingers and stroked the sole of their shoe

and ate it

one who followed you round for your apple stump

the ones with the holes in their shoes

gentian violet for impetigo scalps

good old schooldays

i th’ink therefore they were

not sorry really

 not sorry really 

the world has failed

the shutters are pulled down

sorry

the notice says we are rebooting nature

naturally we are sceptical 

anxious about our loyalty-points we queue

fuck you says gaia 

you fucked me

so fuck you

sorry? what did you say!?

i would insist that you repeated that

but there isn’t time

ad lib

ad lib 

a poet is unable to escape the clutch of language

it flows in the blood 

the word corpuscles for example

it resonates with the plurality of emotion

words as short-lived as red blood cells

and yet the flow continues unabated

blood clots

aphasia is the dreaded word

red in dread

see!

ad libatum 

slag

 slag

the metallurgical centre of the world

is now just a slag

heap

the furnaces have all congealed

the cinders are unoxygenated blood red

docks are marinas

ruins are bling apartments

pollution is just in the mind

can you not see even now the smoke has cleared

hidden in hades is a heavenly dream