may be

 may be

darling buds of may

slugs on a wet day

the dog said i’ve an idea

and ran away 

and ran and ran away

and away 

we went

on looking at wendy’s dress

 on looking at wendy’s dress

weaving

in and out of my timeline

dressed to occasion 

a thought comes and goes

replaced by another address

for the location of the circumlocution 

that flows from an undressed mind

lost in the thought of why

and why not answers

in the pink 

like in it

in i 

and all that stuff

upon reading john’s list

 upon reading john’s list

even after ever after

the list of things that move me

that warm the cockles of my heart

even after all these things are listed

to contain the constraints on my heart

there is a missed beat

that dances across this page

and leaves not one footprint

but a fraught 

nought my king

 nought my king

this neuralgia of the nation

this agony of times

the proletariat protest my lord

the clandestine complexion of your crimes

apply your uniforms as a neural block

apply to their hands and brains

as they genuflect their bended backs

as you reach for their votes on reigns

no sire the past is past my Lord

no future reigns supreme 

it’s over now bar the counting out

it’s over now your regal dream

the worms have turned

the worms that once were bait

have told you to sling your hook

for you have left it far too late

tapestries are threadbare now

tapestries that dwell long on heraldry 

portraits fall from palace walls

portrait’s of grandeur’s bigotry 

return your medals to the box

return them to the proletariat 

the end is nigh exclaim vox populi

the end is nigh and that is that

and now the gas mantle has gone out

 and now the gas mantle has gone out 

i can remember the coffin 

on trestles in the front room

grandpa was cold but relaxed

as we all were

then we went out to play

cowboys and indians 

killing each other

i had a winchester repeating rifle

when i was small 

grandpa used to remind me which side was ours

gently

at the wedding of spring and summer

at the wedding of spring and summer

‘tis indeed a precocious season spring

that brings the bride’s maid’s train

for summer he is waiting at the altar

and the bride is readily veiled again

conspiratorially the breeze stirs in the blossom

and light in the coined confetti falls her name

summer love oh summer love

get over winter’s unrequited shame

kiss me now once more before we pledge

that when autumn’s drizzles falls 

upon the last flute of summer’s champagne

we’ll cuddle all the winter through

whispering oh i do i do love you 

until the bluebell’s melancholy call

drapes the valley’s sedge long veil

and with a sun dew mist arising 

warmly upwells our anniversary air 

around the maypole faeries dancing

lifting love-locked eyes up there 

and look and look in the blue skies

we are there again a love light pair

 

voices

 voices

so many voices

dressed up in words

so many tales

so many veils

the you in your ‘me’

is told to me in mine 

exchange is no robbery

commensurate is the rhyme

ten thousand different characters

ten thousand different voices

say

give me yours and i’ll give you mine

that sting thing feeling

 that sting thing feeling

summer ate spring

a duckling ate midges

a magpie ate the duckling

stolen

there in black and white

is the plight of romance 

at the edges it’s all midges 

there’s the bloody sting 

raw war raw war

 raw war raw war

it’s the eternal oxymoron 

to stop war you have to go to war

                 well you started it

       no i didn’t

i’m dead sure you did

anyway god is on both our sides

so we can’t lose in the end

take this bullet to heaven with you and ask

it’s over there camouflaged in mud blood mud

rs thomas

 rs thomas 

from across the border of his grave

his arrows pierce my heart

from across the fields of his thoughts

he opens up to me through a creaky gate

brushed with stars he said that tree was

as i simply sit under it in wonder 

and wander longingly through his words 

mister wonderful such an empty sobriquet 

i think he would entreat 

for it is by the pulling of the weave

that the tapestry yields its golden threads

as the saga unfolds from his limited time

it starts to rain and the wind picks us up

again his grave overflows as it will

in perpetuity is a comfortable phrase

social media

 social media

mute

the filling in a sandwich of platforms

the image in imagination 

the invagination of a thought posted

in the chameleon of a reply my colours refracted

back the thought bounces unrecognisable 

i can’t be bothered and yet i do

reply by 

mute 

muttering 

remember that tough old man

the one with the gammy leg who used to swim

across the bay in the winter

well he’s dead i said

but they were dead or

mute 

it might be a sign

a toothpick spits out a poem

and the napkin page is soiled

but unsigned

is something else i posted 

mutatis mutandis

don’t you bloody dare