if my hand

 if my hand

if i rest my hand here

for you did ask

why there

why not here or here

well there you are

i said

there it is

my hand

deaths and the death of a ruling class

 deaths and the death of a ruling class

the quince of tears in this blue range

are falling one after one as one

the tributaries are there as one

becomes another and another death

drips to coalesce into a stream

that condolences cannot stem that

cannot dam the flow that now 

is as irate as a cataract 

flowing into a lake of such a pressure

that something has to give

and although they will not say what

will give we say

watch it burst forth in a torrent

that will sweep them all away

and as the delta silts

so will a new day dawn

truly as truly it will

you know the one

you know the one

a cotton dress

that slips up as easy as a breath

  black

embroidered short

way beneath that look

you know the one

the one you hang there some days

  white

long an unembroidered

hair

  black

skin

  white

eyes 

  blue

thoughts as red as 

bloody hell

that dress lies crumpled

behind a smile so wide

that welcome is not the word

but oh

come on now

you know the one

you always wear it

for me 

deep asleep

 deep asleep

‪sometimes at dawn

when the lifeboat station fills with sunshine‬

‪our tears dance‬

‪for the seafarers alone in the deep‬

‪for a homecoming they could not not keep‬

‪back to sleep now my child‬

‪for the storm has abated‬

‪and the sun is shining once again‬

cwm ivy to burry holmes

 

cwm ivy to burry holmes 

across the sand brook on a foot carved path

through the grass of the wind swept moon

a palm slapped face above a restless sea

for there is an island and needlessly soon

enough in an eye of a bay in the knifing

of some spume off a distant bight

and there be the worm as proud as punch

tho’ the visage is as dark as night

and a rainbow above the marram grass

mottled as grey as a sparse haired man

waving in a wind pushing back to front

and as weathered as a cronked out van

dominoed in a holiday park subduned 

lined up like the light horse brigade 

into the valley of the curlew gulls they run

to hide from what is not man made

but the rage of a land at a sea

in its rage at the impudent land

stir crazy the peninsular dagger bight

for the tempest is close at hand

and in turning we collar the rising bile

the pelter off an errant isle

running the gauntlet of a rainbow’s scorn

the back stepping of a fast lonely mile

under a sky as wide as a jellyfish maul

as blue as the push of a scattering cloud

as heavy as a thought on a cold sleet day

the shriek of the wind so loud

so loud in the ears of colder blue

the ruddiness of a face in foil

run tears that rasp the wind’s desire

and every step on the return is toil

a figure alone in silhouette 

far away is the low laying worm

and the brass suns of a day in need

of a deed of an idea in germ

to take away this day in a backpack tight

to file in a story of long been told

that this feeling so deep in the bones of cold

well you know how it feels just right

just right my friend

my friend just right

damn not the wind 

and the rain

and the flail

it feels just right 

just right my friend

all in the world’s just right

not even half a breath

 not even half a breath

and trying to pull away

in a way no one would notice

sitting out the waiting around

the distance of chairs matching

the whispers behind the smiles

for god’s sake open the curtains

spit out the dust

 but i kept quiet

for dying was new to me

the sadness of aspidistras 

of the silky velvet table cloths

the best china clinking 

what time of day it was

i cannot fathom now

but eternity in an instant

isn’t that what they say

i didn’t

new year

 last year lies crumpled in the bin

so upon this blank sheet begin

to smooth with hands that tremble

over plans that no longer resemble

the days when the die was cast away

in a game no one ever wanted to play

but there you are my old old friend

was it not always make do and mend