if not now then when

 if    not    now    then    when

i said that one day i was going to visit

she said if not now then when

and i thought and thought 

i was still thinking when they said

your time is up 

genre be gone

 genre be gone

kick my arse out of this poetry groove

this poetry groove 

this poetry groove 

this poetry groove

click my can’t be arsed

to unsheathe another album cover to recover

my balance 

leap of faith

tell me again tell me again that is what i need

tell me there is another world outside 

walk me on the wild side 

drop me hints on the paper chase 

blindfold my blindfold over and over

darken me

ker pow 

where are we now 

paradise lost on a collage without pieces

hand me a crayon 

click click click

lick

 pop-star’s funeral

ten thousand smart phones

at arms length 

the butterfly effect

 the butterfly effect

scalp vain
skin deep 
the success of cannulation 
drip drip 
satisfaction flows
nevertheless 
life is full of these little things
that caress into friendships
of fontanel softness

drawing in

 drawing in

the night’s are drawing in

whispered on the wind

of dusk 

guy fawkes 

whittled down to a whisper

of the boys’ determination 

bigger

than last year’s

is agreed in lieu of memory

yes for yes is afoot tonight

and it must be just so

a smut settles

and then another settles

as white as snowflakes

will be 

will be 

soon

the longest word

bigger than childhood

soon it will be

christmas 

that whirlpool of emotion where

fairy tales abound

when really

starts really drawing in

snap decisions

 snap decisions

that photo

if it was such a ‘great capture’

why is the subject still there

why can you not release it

back into the wild

and if you did

would there be two wild moments

to capture

and 

did you stalk the image

or did you wait patiently 

are you a hunter-gatherer

or a farmer of cropped images

apertures widen

bird brain

 bird brain

where do birds go to die 

a few miscalculations

fall at our feet

but the myriads

where are they

and the egg shells 

a few miscalculations

fall at our feet

but the myriads

where are they

the cats calculate

bring us a few

placed at our feet

the kestrel 

makes a feather bed

to step over 

thoughts roost

a murmuration of imagination

answers  be still

now where are we

what ~ surely not

 what ~ surely not

what are we

but selected bits of the earth

assembled to a plan that works

bits of plans that did not work

or that work around our plan

we are both a plan

and parts of a plan

that is itself not planned

but a result of

bits of a war

pieces that resemble peace

not one is unsoiled

try swallowing that

birthday candle

 birthday candle

the wick

of pre-gestation 

was lit by …?

the wick

post-mortis

is snuffed by …?

life waxes lyrical

for what else can it do

station road

 station road

dark the looped light

from the swan-neck lampposts 

single globes along a dark dread

furtive 

catapults fisted 

silence

darkness

breathless 

ping plutt out

next one 

ping putt out

run

hands trailing along the wall capped

with slag bot triangles black as the night

as cold as fear driving feet up stumble tracks

to a viewpoint gasping at gaps in the chain

of tomorrow’s curses from the workmen

with their ladder’s rungs ringing our necks

bent back in laughter 

loud enough to last seventy years 

and a light coming on 

that refuses to be extinguished 

this side of our graves

stealing javelins

 stealing javelins

the joinery factory

two shops that supplied sawdust

for guinea pigs and rabbits

arrow heads for our bows

made of privet and string

and the metal dowels found

were bound into real arrow heads

we hunted the dark evenings

in the storage sheds

our quarry were laths of wood

of javelin length

taken to sharpen

and handled to carve

performance in the field

the old night watchman was a magician 

who appeared from nowhere

and escape was a divine deliverance

across the darkening fields

tomorrow threw a javelin party

and the devil boys threw the furthest

caution to the wind