I write in white,
And a song was sung at the gate,
as a third flicks into view
from behind a black pillar,
robed in the tilt,
split of spectrum,
are you really keeping
your side of the deal?
There’s a mirror between us.
And in the reflection, a truth,
we can’t quite conceal.
Shut down the infernal screen.
Rain starts to fall in my dream
and in the darkness,
You approach in a cluster of light,
coming back, over the hill.
Take care the mirror, wrapped in your cloak.
Leaves on the tree stream like a woman’s hair.
Whistle of wind, ship-creak sounds from branches that sway.
Silver around a passing cloud, revelation in a sepia sun.
Dart of birds as they leave their shadows behind.
The way the fir tree dances with the wind.
On the forest, balls of mistletoe, out of reach.
A gull. Music of wind. Fine shimmer of rain,
rain at the edge of the wind.
Ever changing pattern of cloud.
The wheel of crows…
Dream in the afternoon, the rhythm of breath.
Does the dawn come so early?
Relief as the darkness enfolds.
The edge of a strange planet where white waves roll in,
a sheen on the sea, obsidian.
Wisps of milky cloud, bright lights in a flotilla, spangle that delineate the pier.
The bright lights of the pier are my grandparents.
The sand whitens as I close in on the promenade,
reaches the top of the sea wall, almost buries a bench,
the bunch of red roses still in their cellophane sheath.
The black mirror shatters under the pressure of a goose-lamp interrogation, a wire vessel, dreamscape haemorrhage as the inverted dunce cap scrapes the bottom of the LavAzza can.
Corpulent envelopes, more stones to slowly burst the creaking ribcage.
sun pours on cobwebs –
a plate bears two silver spheres
in the oak cupboard.
December 13th, 2018, 10:30pm.
Frigid cavern, white bite morning.
A skeleton yearns for escape, his suit of skin.
Yellow teeth, electric-cable tails,
rats scratch in the attic, claw and tear,
in their desperation for poison.
Meanwhile, rumour reaches the street.
Police cancel leave.
Rhetoric translates into bare cupboards.
Another man jumps at shadows,
hammer, saw, nail – his own staircase to climb.
December 5th, 2018, 10pm.
Eyes of horses, pools of secrets
three horses, synchronicity
they lean into one and another
a trinity, reaches the end of the furrow
plough line, wake of earth
turn, rattle of chains
slice and glide of share
and I am so happy I forget myself
sing a song of horses
press and lift of hoof
fetlock and hock
the lone woman who speeds the plough
face impassive as a chess piece
rein and harness, brass stars
a feather spirals down the sky
corkscrews as she dreams
and the poet reaches the end of a line
December 1st, 2018, 10:15 am.
Blue siren, cobalt ululation
in mantlepiece formation
pigeon descent, pollarded tree
like seeing pebbles
by the river’s glide
November 25th, 2018, 12pm.
Cloudy ride on the open-top bus
wind-swept passengers corralled by protective silver rail.
You, in the front seat,
head tilted, gunmetal sky,
hint of rain, air in splinters
alpine silence in the spiralling trees
19th November 2018, 8pm.
Kelp-light shines down in teleport beams
and from the black maw of the sea cave
the merman rises through the scales,
sonar pulse in aurora red and green.
On the hillside, above the sea foam
mist shroud, music of the ship’s bell.
the crow woman –
finger beat of her bones
black winged diviner,
twitcher of words shot through with silver.
November 10th, 2018, 3:15pm.