I had a sense of

I had a sense of
The broken shallows of the soul
Cut by an angel’s burning sword
Until only – a flickering candle remained

I felt: I was no more than the concrete – in a car park
Used and abused – soulless walls
To where neglect takes flight
Like a plucked bird escaping from a plate

My cards were thin
My hearts breath a dry lake
But peeping through the ruins
Love was there still, ready to speak

I watch the unwanted teen

I watch the unwanted teenager
Approach the abyss
Really it was a tower with a moat all around t
It was an island alp surrounded by deep lakes

Yes, I watched the unwanted teenager
Approach the sliced water filled rock faces
Everything behind her destroyed
by the stuffed animals of her home life

one bright new thing came to life
irrespective of the destruction wrought upon her
on the other side of the abyss
in the alpine region of our minds

a set of tuning forks floating up right
reformed into a tubular sun
she leapt across the abyss like a new child
reaching out for its new creation

the kitchen knife

So, I speak to the kitchen knife
And I say “hello”
It appears it’s missing
My mother’s hand

I cannot explain to the knife
Where my mother is
I don’t even know myself

So, I ask the kitchen knife
“Have you had much work to do?”
I’m just trying to be nice
I know that it’s had a very long life

-I rummaged about in the drawer
And I pulled out the kitchen knife
It had been there
In the rattle and clank of knives and forks
Since the grandfather clock caught fire
And the cloakroom filled up with schoolboy frogs-

“Cut up anything lately” I asked
Just to shock it a bit
It replied “not in a long time”
It said that it preferred being used for counting garden peas
And told me how it had been left
in a sink full of washing up for years and years

“Where was that?” I asked
“It was in the house of knives”

After a rainy day

After a rainy day
I find a pool of water
In the street

It’s a girl
I say “hey girl, what’s up”
She says that she’s hiding

I look at the pool of water
And I feel sad

It used to be a girl
Who, passing through thickets
Of a thorny society
Decided to hide
And become a lovely pool of water

The big men with big feet
Don’t see her as she moves out of their way

A preacher from social security
comes charging down the street
With an appointment
She’s to attend

Her mother now a worker ant
Crawls by muttering the twelve times table

It’s a nice rainy day
Now in the aftermath
The blind man’s dog disappears into a black van

Around the corner sits the giant strong man
Atlas, tying a blade to his spear

It’s as impossible as this
I cannot even lift her up
She reforms on the ground
To wait for the stars to come out
It’s almost as if she never was

My poetry is

my poetry is wavelengths down from the last trumpet
my poetry has been thirteen fields away from the western wall
my poetry is a million raindrops down from the nano-sphere
my poetry is fourteen cloaks away from a glass slipper

rising out of the lake like a giant key hole
travelling through the forest like a wind in the willows
circling the earth like an eagle carrying an oxygen cylinder
going home to Mum like a sack of coal in a pram

divided like a bar of chocolate between two little mouths
divided like two highways with no sideroads
divided like aa marriage with empty cupboards
divided like a family into different bumping cars at the fair

my bumping car has graffiti painted over it
my bumping car has had the seat burnt out of it
my bumping car is overturned in a scrapyard
my bumping car still has lights that flash across the other crumpled car bodies

there is a car body being taken to the police pen
there is a car body rolling over a mountain
there is a car body having its number plates stolen
there is a car body dismantled by ammunition and gunpowder

my poetry went down that road
alone and broken hearted
walking into waterfalls of madness
and crawling out of the other side

Life – momentarily

I can’t believe it
Life is here
It tickles inside me
It is laughter melting

Something has succeeded
A prayer has rooted down
That the darkness cannot fight
A spirit of birth

When each thought
accepted the other
In the mind

When each feeling
Is placed chromatically
In the heart

Begins its circumnavigation

After the explosion
Has drained away
The water level returns
Better than before

Sing to God
a psalm of everything
sing To God
Everything in a psalm


Can you see
The cat on the bench
And the dogwood rose
Can you see
The flowering shrugs
Where the honeysuckle grows
If I were not at peace
Would any of this grow
What more can I do?
What else is there to know

Can you hear
Occasional laughter
From the window where I live
Can you hear some odd discussions?
It’s only what I give
If I were not at peace
Would any of this exist
What more can I show you?
Then this

Some have only just begun
To build their garden
Some think that a garden grows by itself
Some have a garden built on a graveyard
Some think a garden is brought with wealth

Can you hear the occasional bird singing?
Can you see the slugs and snails around the leaves?
If I were not at peace
Would I bother
To entertain anything
Like these

Spinning wheel

Spinning wheel

My life has been like a wheel
Spinning out of control
Until it spins quite freely
On an axis made of gold

And although I reached out to people
People did not respond
Then I saw a greater thing
In the mountain range beyond

Washer and buffers

We are like wheels without washer
We wear down in rust
Pollution gets to us
It’s all dust

Like a station without buffers
When the train comes to crash
Blood leaks out like water
Into the wash

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