Wednesday, 21 February 2018

cinders

cinders

Audio

mankind’s demands - insatiable,
homo sapiens demise - inevitable.
it’s the math of population,
of defenestration deforestation;
the drive along highway’s horizon
teetering at the edge of the world.
Gaia you are dying, poisoned of this
dubious chalice as their plans unfurled;
but, come now, relax ... relax ...
you know that well before nemesis, 
everyone alive will soon be dead,
so, high in hubris, why look that far ahead?
just benignly motor on instead;
yabber, dabber do! race you to the rubbish tip;
oh, come on now! stiff upper lip!
nothing is as bad as it first appears,
surely there will be something ahead,
when finally the world is dead.
i’m sure there will be an epitaph,
to make a space traveller laugh;
what a load of plonkers they really were,
nothing to show that they we here.
tick them off, one less civilisation,
a species with moral constipation,
they did not win the human race,
when all’s said and done, a disgrace.
good riddance to them all,
for they did not heed the writing on the wall.
across the empty reaches of space,
the tale will be told of the nation,
who were so consumed with greed,
they wanted everything, 
but it brought them nothing,
in death they bleed into the ashes,
cooked in their fan-oven world,
medium to well-done in cinders,
                       but
ne’er you mind your moaning sisters,
you shall go to the wall,
it’s one minute to midnight,
and the final curtain call.

Monday, 19 February 2018

the searcher

the searcher

Audio

why me? why am i torn of the abyss
for the slaying of the poetry?
why do i pestle the mincer of words?
waiting for the delivery of fresh meat,
from the prairie that is mind.
who chose me at this late date
to wait on the spirits of the rhymers,
to flagellate the shredded veil,
to nail every thought that might
be the message for the page.
why do i have to ache this way?
to say what?
when it is said i’ll know, i’ll know,
but what i don’t know is, why me?
there are so many feathers gagging
my mouth and still i have yet to eat the flesh.
they fly without feathers, even as i call return,
come back, why are you fleeing? 
what should we?
and i must say we,
when i ask, why me? over, and over,
and over, when i don’t deliver
it.
on so many pages hang the words 
that do not last the wash of tears, 
the bitter tears of frustration.
why me? 
and, yet, perhaps it is not meant to be me?
then why can i not stop?
why am i me ing it, whingeing, whining?
when the pages are slaughtered with grapeshot words,
pages as dead as the verses in hearses,
call yourself a poet!?
and still i prospect the storm drains of my mind,
searching as the blood-eyed iron rails upon the sieve,
and never, never! the nugget. never!
so why me?
               why do i seek the richness of words
in the mine that is spent, in the well that is dry.
is there one last jewel calling in the wilderness?
have me home. am i the only light for the way?
will my dying breath call it said?
will it lie above my name upon the page?
to be known as sagacity, the sage his muse.
she was born when he died. 
he stayed the course,
of course,
and now he is gone.
he left the words that he had searched for all his life,
he placed them gently on the last page.
and closed the book on: why me?

why not you might ask;
because he found it,
did he not?




Friday, 16 February 2018

each one a thousand fragments

Audio

each one a thousand fragments,
the new one fragmented more;
when the two of us,
meld into the one of us,
the fragments fragment more.
facets of the meld of us.
remembering each other’s memories,
alliterations of the said and unsaid;
the spaces between the highs and lows,
the fractured features of your face or mine,
where every pain and tear entwine;
where every laugh we cried,
where every child we nursed, 
will ne’er be gainsaid.
their facets were our fascination.
the thousand ways that you see me,
seeing you in your thousand ways.
oh can’t you see? that we 
are
      one of a thousand fragments;
you a fragment in a thousand.
me a fragment in a thousand.
together we are a thousand, thousand,
              fragmented kisses;
but just a fragment in our time;
and ne’er our twain to meet.

Thursday, 15 February 2018

night light

the owls are calling
in the nostrils of the night
in the sinuses of the dark.
eyes wide in the moonlight
hark, hark!
who are they calling?
who? who?
please; if it’s OK with you?
let’s not put out the light.

Wednesday, 14 February 2018

the valentine days

the valentine days

Audio

each contour under two tracing fingers,
entwined across our spreading map; 
following the un-walked paths. 
all together leaning, the two of us, 
toward the one world line of our lives, 
similarly entwined and coterminous 
in our eyes; dark in spark in welded pupils, 
pooling our tears of laughter. how much dafter can
the fluttering butterflies pirouette, tickling 
in belly tight to belly tight. rarely in life will we
embrace the mountain top to valley
rollercoaster ride. the wurlitzer waltza 
on the spinning fairground ride of our new
life together, as we are, so we are, aren’t we?
breaths shared by arms around each other,
hands entwined and swinging in time to
some private tune. sinking into each other,
in the royal jelly, sweet in the hive of our minds,
in the way we float in thought, spliced together, 
both incanting in a whisper, you are mine, 
forever and a day.

plastic pollution

#Swansea Council
is it not a disgrace?
when you tell us that we have to place,
tons of soft plastic in our bins;
surely this is one of the deadly sins?
with all the plastic grains within the sea,
with all the brains out there, it seems to me,
that you HAVE TO find the win win solution,
that will recycle the soft plastic from our bins;
so that we can finally kill this killer,
this unrequited love, so out of kilter;
the plastic coffin that is our pollution.


Monday, 12 February 2018

Mrs Crandon

A small, lace widow, with sparrow-stocking legs,
arming me, a child, down the right path
from Band of Hope. “bandorfvorp”.
Her torch knitting the snowflakes,
into a threadbare blanket on the path
to the main steps of the chapel
and onto the village hushed. 
If there is a God, then
She was walking with me there.