Who’s driving this pen then? That light behind the light, Through the leaves, Beyond the trees? Cells that lost a certain weight Are dancing. Laughing like the brushes Watching us roll in the paint instead. Who’s dissolving these fruits then? Flesh fermenting; ultra sweet Ecstasies of seed Intoxicated wasp berserkers Dance songs about these Heroic deeds. In circular time; Story and dream. Fish silver wave tops Make love to flow with form. An orgone shake-shake! Black eyes deep with space Only ever reflect. Layers in Before you can finally see That the ocean is smiling. 2015
Blood is flowing out,
As a meander, in the thing, slips back in.
Walls of grief like weather fronts
Have battered this island for days,
Named storms, like Britain’s;
Tearing at the social fabric, from within actually
Because we’ve forgotten personal sovereignty
Our language craving creativity
As we buy leave, like our leaven
With our anxiety.
And battles are STILL being fought in this body.
The wars are being waged IN my body;
A ravaged body
May seem like collateral, but is the endgame,
Did you know? Until they’re still,
Until Rome has come, and gone, again,
And prophets have ceased their howling,
What chance to even hear their own truth?
This moon glancing cool across desert growing
Whispers: ‘Quieten children, liSSSSten…’
Blood is flowing out,
As a meander in the thing, slides back in.
And I wanted to show you how I pray
But I was sobbing in the corner;
A no with which I’m creating space for a thousand
More joys in a bigger YES!
Til then I’m battening down:
Let my winds howl, like the wild things
Across the craters, that will form the lakes
From which will birth our tomorrows.
2015, Hard Rain
There’s another path:
Behind the towpath,
Beyond the hedgerow,
It shimmers with elderflowers
Who’s using that?
Not the joggers,
Clagged feet and clogged memory.
Amongst the hemlock;
A slower amble.
You slip and follow.
Inspiration; a tang of cicely
For your songs.
Sneak into the wet spots,
Track deer into the pool.
A still trap of
This isn’t solid ground;
There’s no hard standing.
Dart with it into the gloom
Between falling walls
And rotting fences.
Is this a path? Or a desire;
To slide away into the rushes.
So what do you plan to do with this wild and precious life?
I plan to keep listening to the whispering
Of the midnight bird’s fluidly pulsing wings
Undulating form, dark and velvet
I long to surge through that texture
On my stomach, softening into the miracle.
With a swoosh, almost imperceptible, a sound like
Blue moon rising at the edge of the world
Is anything more wonderful to imagine
Beyond grasping earth-bound senses,
Than your flight: shape-shifting sheen?
Thicker than water, loved by air’s gusts and streams
A lover’s dance conceived your infrastructure
Bone and sinew and feather, muscular tribute
The story repeating in every moving moment
Watch your words, for they become worlds!
This diversity of beauty
Cannot but be birthed from true love
Coupling beings playing across dimensions
Like songbirds serenading buds into blossom.
I dance your sweep, your cacophony, your mischief
Your laughter, your freedom soar.
I felt the smudge of your wing once
In a journey beyond space-time
Cutting through fantasy and self-deception
Like plumed razors.