FINE YOUNG THING

“Oh, I was...a fine young thing! ”
“Ya shoulda seen me then! ”

“Lindyhopping Lindy! ”
“Dat’s wot de’s called me! ”

“God! I was good! ”
“I was better than good! ”

“I was to be dug...dig! ”

I laugh as she jive talks me.

“Here...ya don’t believe me! ”
“I’ll show ya! ”

And she proceeds to
show me
how & wow!

Flinging her fragile frame
into a crazy crazy dance routine
...*******!

God! She nearly gives me
a heart attack just watching her.

Doesn’t look a day over 40(she’s a nifty sixty) .

She busts a move(never breaks sweat)
dances me off my feet(I bust a gut) .

Bless her.. little cotton socks.
“Well, young fellow...was I lying? ”

“You...you’re(I gasp) “...the bee’s knees.. the cat’s pyjamas

I try to catch my breath
(it went that away)
I nurse a hernia.

“Ah, you young guys these days
you just ain’t the same! ”

“Why, me & Jim would dance for hours! ”

“We was the best jumpin’ jivers! ”

“Shoulda seen us dancing to“Jeeperscreepers! ”
“Man...we was something else! ”

Then she goes... makes us both
a nice cup of tea

with a dash of brandy in it for me
(“Thought ya needed it! ”) .

Spring waltzes in and
dances with the curtains.

Louis Jordan sings:

“There ain’t nobody here
but us chickens

...there ain’t nobody here

but

us! ”

FINGERTIP
( for Shyam )

as a little child
I travelled

up & down the Ganges
its sister Yamuna..her brother Brahmaputra

their names
upon my tongue

my voice calling them
into being

awed by their sound
mantras for my mind

riding their waters
in the little ship

of a
fingertip

traveling only as a child
can

now
here I am

still that child
become this man

still offering
my devotion

from the Dev Bhoomi I come

tracing Shiva's hair
from here to there

"Ganga Ma...Ganga Ma!" I cry
herding the river

from Gaumukh
watching her

spread her fan
into the Bay of Bengal and beyond

still sailing the same old
fingertip ship

a bit old and
battered now

soon I will stand
on Indian soil

call all my childhood rivers
to me

bow as they
flow into me

their names
upon my tongue

calling upon
all the Gods to come

as
one

"OM!"

FIRE SET ON FIRE

Your nakedness
encounters my nakedness
the moonlight
falls from your shoulders
as I dress you
in kisses…caresses
cover your flesh
with the flesh of my flesh
until we no longer are
aware which flesh is ours
translated as we are
beyond the bounds
of our
desire
fire
set on
fire!

FIRST A LITTLE NIBBLE

First a little nibble
of a frayed curtain

then with a gulp
of sheer delight

it began to eat
the new sofa.

First the throw...then:
a checkered cushion

until it had all been
consumed.

It licked the door
wanting to escape

the room wherein
it had been born.

Slowly slowly then more
and more

eagerly it
advanced up the stairs

on little flame like feet
before bursting into the bedroom.

It blossomed
It bloomed.

A fire engine tore the night apart
all sirens and lights....sirensandlights.

By dawn the fire had grown
weary of itself

smouldered sulkily.

A child's yellow shoe.

Half a teddy.

. . .lay at the fireman's feet.

FIRST A LITTLE NIBBLE

First a little nibble
of a frayed curtain

then with a gulp
of sheer delight

it began to eat
the new sofa.

First the throw...then:
a checkered cushion

until it had all been
consumed.

It licked the door
wanting to escape

the room wherein
had been born.

Slowly slowly then more
and more

eagerly it
advanced up the stairs

on little flame like feet
before bursting into the bedroom.

It blossomed
It bloomed.

A fire engine tore then night apart
all sirens and lights....sirensandlights.

By dawn the fire had grown
weary of itself

smouldered sulkily.

A child's yellow shoe.

Half a teddy.

. . .lay at the fireman's feet.

FIRST DAY

So that was it
was it?

Well...I
gave it a go but

no. . .NO!

It's not for me.
Boring...mostly.

When I think of
the things I  could be

doing
the sun trapped  in a window

the sky and birds
calling me to come and play.

School was for fools.
I only learnt that I didn't like it.

But you can't say I
didn't try.

What....what I gotta
go again tomorrow.

You kidding me!
I have a full time job

just being me!

No that's all!
I'm gonna go and

kick a ball
chase a butterfly

the important things
in life.

FIRST LOVE

I am new to
this

"love thing"
read about it in manuals

of course
but this is

the real thing.

Ok..ok so
she is just a dust bin.

I love her
rusty dents

she so very very tin!

Oh the metal of her.

The way she wears
her lid.

Her name is Tin(Sn) &

she has 10...10
stable isotopes!

I know the humans will
never understand.

A robot never forgets his
first love.

*

Broken toy robot sticking out of a rusty tin bin....I wrote them their love story.

FIRST LOVE

I am new to
this

"love thing"
read about it in manuals

of course
but this is

the real thing.

Ok..ok so
she is just a dust bin.

I love her
rusty dents

she so very very tin!

Oh the metal of her.

The way she wears
her lid.

Her name is Tin(Sn) &

she has 10...10
stable isotopes!

I know the humans will
never understand.

A robot never forgets his
first love.

FIRST LOVE

I am new to
this

"love thing"
read about it in manuals

of course
but this is

the real thing.

Ok..ok so
she is just a dust bin.

I love her
rusty dents

she so very very tin!

Oh the metal of her.

The way she wears
her lid.

Her name is Tin(Sn) &

she has 10...10
stable isotopes!

I know the humans will
never understand.

A robot never forgets his
first love.

FIRST LOVE

I am new to
this

"love thing"
read about it in manuals

of course
but this is

the real thing.

Ok..ok so
she is just a dust bin.

I love her
rusty dents

she so very very tin!

Oh the metal of her.

The way she wears
her lid.

Her name is Tin(Sn) &

she has 10...10
stable isotopes!

I know the humans will
never understand.

A robot never forgets his
first love.

"FIRST THERE IS A MOUNTAIN, THEN
THERE IS NO MOUNTAIN, THEN THERE IS."

she was Swedish
squeamish that a man could
still live at home with his "Mam"

she tried to get him
to...you know...think
about an "ecological self"

"You gotta think..."
she informed him
"...like a mountain!"

he looked like he had
just fallen off
a continental shelf

"Mannnn!" she thought
"He's just never grown up
a Mammy's boy...devoid of self."

he hadn't heard of Lovelock
or even Arne Naess
she spoke better English than he did

he blushed when asked
if he had read Luce Irigaray's
THIS *** WHICH IS NOT ONE

had never heard of Simone
de Beauvoir's THE SECOND ***
just the word made him blush

all he was intent on
was getting his hands on
her ample *******

so shortsighted to go on
a blind date...never again
he talked only to her cleavage

she gave him her number
a false one
the Well Woman's Center

sang as she quickly
hurried away
Donovan's "First there is a Mountain..."

"FIRST THERE IS A MOUNTAIN, THEN
THERE IS NO MOUNTAIN, THEN THERE IS."

she was Swedish
squeamish that a man could
still live at home with his "Mam"

she tried to get him
to...you know...think
about an "ecological self"

"You gotta think..."
she informed him
"...like a mountain!"

he looked like he had
just fallen off
a continental shelf

"Mannnn!" she thought
"He's just never grown up
a Mammy's boy...devoid of self."

he hadn't heard of Lovelock
or even Arne Naess
she spoke better English than he did

he blushed when asked
if he had read Luce Irigaray's
THIS *** WHICH IS NOT ONE

had never heard of Simone
de Beauvoir's THE SECOND ***
just the word made him blush

all he was intent on
was getting his hands on
her ample *******

so shortsighted to go on
a blind date...never again
he talked only to her cleavage

she gave him her number
a false one
the Well Woman's Centre

sang as she quickly
hurried away
Donovan's "First there is a Mountain..."

FLYING INTO FOREVER

the geese flew on
and out
of my childhood

leaving me
returning
each new year

to find that
same moment
when I was 9

seeing the geese now
with different eyes
but somehow still

that little boy
seeing them
for the first time

the geese flying
on and out
into forever. . .

. . .snow has fallen
in love
with the world

dressing everything in
the same
crisp white quiet

icicles
hang from
the blue tricycle

a lost green
glove creeps across
the front yard

soon my daughter
all 9 years of her
will awake to find

the dream made real
a forgotten doll
gazes up at me

from
the bottom of
the frozen pond

I write you
a Christmas card
as I do each year

sign it
love
as I always do

forgetting that
you
are dead

FLYING INTO FOREVER

the geese flew on and out
of my childhood

leaving me returning
each new year

to find that same moment
when I was 9

seeing the geese now
with different eyes

but somehow still
that little boy

seeing them
for the first time

the geese flying on and out
into forever. . .

. . .snow has fallen
in love with the world

dressing everything in
the same crisp white quiet

icicles hang from
the blue tricycle

a lost green glove creeps across the front yard

soon my daughter
all 9 years of her

will awake to find
the dream made real

a forgotten doll
gazes up at me

from the bottom of
the frozen pond

I write you a Christmas card
as I do each year

sign it love
as I always do

forgetting that

you are dead.

FLYING INTO FOREVER

the geese flew on and out
of my childhood

leaving me returning
each new year

to find that same moment
when I was 9

seeing the geese now
with different eyes

but somehow still
that little boy

seeing them
for the first time

the geese flying on and out
into forever. . .

. . .snow has fallen
in love with the world

dressing everything in
the same crisp white quiet

icicles hang from
the blue tricycle

a lost green glove creeps across the front yard

soon my daughter
all 9 years of her

will awake to find
the dream made real

a forgotten doll
gazes up at me

from the bottom of
the frozen pond

I write you a Christmas card
as I do each year

sign it love
as I always do

forgetting that

you are dead.

FLYING INTO FOREVER

the geese flew on and out
of my childhood

leaving me returning
each new year

to find that same moment
when I was 9

seeing the geese now
with different eyes

but somehow still
that little boy

seeing them
for the first time

the geese flying on and out
into forever. . .

. . .snow has fallen
in love with the world

dressing everything in
the same crisp white quiet

icicles hang from
the blue tricycle

a lost green glove creeps across the front yard

soon my daughter
all 9 years of her

will awake to find
the dream made real

a forgotten doll
gazes up at me

from the bottom of
the frozen pond

I write you a Christmas card
as I do each year

sign it love
as I always do

forgetting that

you are dead.

FLYING THROUGH TIME

For ever the angel
is flying towards us

a timeless being
bearing the burden

of
Time.

His wounded wings
trapped in paint

& the imagination
of the human mind

healing the hearts
of all who gaze upon

the beauty
of the artist’s hand

flying from century to century
flying from mind to mind

before resting
at last

in mine.

I leave this church
of shadows & saints

October sunlight
assaults my eyes

birds startle
suddenly into blue

an angel
like a prayer

curled up
in my soul

...asleep.

FLYING THROUGH TIME

For ever the angel
is flying towards us

a timeless being
bearing the burden

of
Time.

His wounded wings
trapped in paint

& the imagination
of the human mind

healing the hearts
of all who gaze upon

the beauty
of the artist’s hand

flying from century to century
flying from mind to mind

before resting
at last

in mine.

I leave this church
of shadows & saints

October sunlight
assaults my eyes

birds startle
suddenly into blue

an angel
like a prayer

curled up
in my soul

...asleep.

FLY ME TO THE MOON

a *****'s cough
the Atlantic breaths in...out
'Ahhh....' sighs Memory '...you've come back

a riot
of lobelia
the butterflies go wild

shoebox
Men's Size 9 now
old love letters

FOLLOW MY HEART

'Yes! ' I thought
' I will remember...'

how to get
back to
this place

your laughing face

a bird
writing on the sky

with the calligraphy
of its flight

this passing cloud
shaped like a heart now

breaking up into
Rodin's THE KISS

the laughter of kids
entangled in trees

a slight breeze
saucily lifting the hem

of your skirt
as if examining

the workmanship
of it.

Suddenly the wind's
a tailor?

The sea's voice
whispering far off

'Come & see... come & see! '

like a shy hawker
at a carnival.

One little brown knee
placed delicately
over another little brown knee

your skirt
like surf

crashing over it.

Yes I will
always remember

how to get
back here

follow these
directions

follow
my heart.

FOLLOW MY HEART

'Yes! ' I thought
' I will remember...'

how to get
back to
this place

your laughing face

a bird
writing on the sky

with the calligraphy
of its flight

this passing cloud
shaped like a heart now

breaking up into
Rodin's THE KISS

the laughter of kids
entangled in trees

a slight breeze
saucily lifting the hem

of your skirt
as if examining

the workmanship
of it.

Suddenly the wind's
a tailor?

The sea's voice
whispering far off

'Come & see... come & see! '

like a shy hawker
at a carnival.

One little brown knee
placed delicately
over another little brown knee

your skirt
like surf

crashing over it.

Yes I will
always remember

how to get
back here

follow these
directions

follow
my heart.

FOLLOW THE LEADER

she is the creator
of worlds
she being 3

does not know how
a world
can be

a world
is only
how she makes it

daily she
creates it
in her own image

music is a thing
that dances
in the blood.

a butterfly is a miracle
she is just as yet
unaccustomed to

a flower
is a piece
of living magic

her dolls
speak to her
( in her own voice)

ten tulips
bow to her
she bows to them

a daddy is
a somebody
who knows nothing

who has to be
taught
everything.

she knows
there is nothing
that can not be

facts are replaced
by imagination
...the art of seeing

a purple sun
shines
in a yellow yellow world

see she has
drawn it so
and so it is so

and I her disciple
follow the little leader
as she teaches me

how to be
the world that she
can see

( half invention
  half discovery )
as she leads

me back to
the land
of childhood

I believed I had
long ago
lost forever

*

She was my teacher...making me in her own image...showing me how I could live in the world without dying into adulthood. I became as a little child and she gave me the gift of the world she created.

FOLLOW THE LEADER

She is the creator
of worlds.

She, being 3
does not know how

a world
can be.

A world is only
how she makes it.

Daily she
creates it in her own

image.

Music is a thing
that dances in the blood.

A butterfly is a miracle
she is just

as yet unaccustomed to.

A flower is a piece
of living magic.

Her dolls speak to her
( in her own voice ).

Ten tulips bow to her
she bows to them.

A daddy is a somebody
who knows nothing and

who has to be taught
everything.

She knows there is nothing
that can not be.

Facts are replaced by imagination
...the art of seeing.

A purple sun shines
in a yellow yellow world.

See! She has
drawn it so.

And so
it is so.

And I, her disciple
follow the little leader

as she teaches me
how to be

the world that she
can see

( half invention
  half discovery )

as she leads
me back to

the land of childhood
I believed I had

long ago
lost forever.

FOLLOW THE LEADER

She is the creator
of worlds.

She, being 3
does not know how

a world
can be.

A world is only
how she makes it.

Daily she
creates it in her own

image.

Music is a thing
that dances in the blood.

A butterfly is a miracle
she is just

as yet unaccustomed to.

A flower is a piece
of living magic.

Her dolls speak to her
( in her own voice ).

Ten tulips bow to her
she bows to them.

A daddy is a somebody
who knows nothing and

who has to be taught
everything.

She knows there is nothing
that can not be.

Facts are replaced by imagination
...the art of seeing.

A purple sun shines
in a yellow yellow world.

See! She has
drawn it so.

And so
it is so.

And I, her disciple
follow the little leader

as she teaches me
how to be

the world that she
can see

( half invention
  half discovery )

as she leads
me back to

the land of childhood
I believed I had

long ago
lost forever.

FOLLOW THE LEADER

She is the creator
of worlds.

She, being 3
does not know how

a world
can be.

A world is only
how she makes it.

Daily she
creates it in her own

image.

Music is a thing
that dances in the blood.

A butterfly is a miracle
she is just

as yet unaccustomed to.

A flower is a piece
of living magic.

Her dolls speak to her
( in her own voice ).

Ten tulips bow to her
she bows to them.

A daddy is a somebody
who knows nothing and

who has to be taught
everything.

She knows there is nothing
that can not be.

Facts are replaced by imagination
...the art of seeing.

A purple sun shines
in a yellow yellow world.

See! She has
drawn it so.

And so
it is so.

And I, her disciple
follow the little leader

as she teaches me
how to be

the world that she
can see

( half invention
  half discovery )

as she leads
me back to

the land of childhood
I believed I had

long ago
lost forever.

FOOTSTEPS SET IN TIME

The lightness of
your footstep

as you hurried to me

caught in the slowly setting
concrete
you didn’t see

holds your fleeting love
permanently  

your footsteps
greedy for me

paying no attention
to the world whatever

only knowing that
in a few footsteps more

you would be precious
and adored for who you are

your footsteps
still exist

echoing inside my tears

as I put my next step
inside yours

and the snow fills
the other   footsteps        up.

FOOTSTEPS SET IN TIME

The lightness of
your footstep

as you hurried to me

caught in the slowly setting
concrete
you didn’t see

holds your fleeting love
permanently

your footsteps
greedy for me

paying no attention
to the world whatever

only knowing that
in a few footsteps more

you would be precious
and adored for who you are

your footsteps
still exist

echoing inside my tears

as I put my next step
inside yours

and the snow fills
the other footsteps up.

FOOTSTEPS SET IN TIME

The lightness of
your footstep

as you hurried to me

caught in the slowly setting
concrete

( you didn’t see )

holds your fleeting love
permanently  

your footsteps
greedy for me

paying no attention
to the world whatever

only knowing that
in a few footsteps more

you would be precious
and adored for who you are

your footsteps
still exist

echoing inside my tears

as I put my next step
inside yours

and the snow fills
the other   footsteps        up.

FOOTSTEPS SET IN TIME

The lightness of
your footstep

as you hurried to me

caught in the slowly setting
concrete
you didn’t see

holds your fleeting love
permanently  

your footsteps
greedy for me

paying no attention
to the world whatever

only knowing that
in a few footsteps more

you would be precious
and adored for who you are

your footsteps
still exist

echoing inside my tears

as I put my next step
inside yours

and the snow fills
the other   footsteps        up.

FOOTSTEPS SET IN TIME

The lightness of
your footstep

as you hurried to me

caught in the slowly setting
concrete

( you didn’t see )

holds your fleeting love
permanently  

your footsteps
greedy for me

paying no attention
to the world whatever

only knowing that
in a few footsteps more

you would be precious
and adored for who you are

your footsteps
still exist

echoing inside my tears

as I put my next step
inside yours

and the snow fills
the other   footsteps        up.

FOOTSTEPS SET IN TIME

The lightness of
your footstep

as you hurried to me

caught in the slowly setting
concrete
you didn’t see

holds your fleeting love
permanently  

your footsteps
greedy for me

paying no attention
to the world whatever

only knowing that
in a few footsteps more

you would be precious
and adored for who you are

your footsteps
still exist

echoing inside my tears

as I put my next step
inside yours

and the snow fills
the other   footsteps        up.

FOOTSTEPS SET IN TIME

the lightness
of your footstep
as you hurried to me

caught
in the slowly setting
concrete you didn’t see

holds your fleeting love
permanently
your footsteps greedy for me

paying no attention
to the world
whatever

only knowing that
in a few footsteps more
you would be precious

and adored for who you are
your footsteps
still exist

echoing inside my tears
as I put my next step
inside yours

and the snow
fills
the other footsteps up

*

My little girl forever running to me and delighted that daddy is home. Footpath? What footpath!

In the Tales of the Boyhood of Fionn, that Irish icon of long ago legend and myth, there is an interesting debate among Fionn and his friends as to what was the finest music in the world:
“Tell us that,” said Fionn turning to Osin.
“The cuckoo calling from the tree that is highest in the hedge,” cried his merry son.
“A good sound,” said Fionn. “And you, Oscar,” he asked, “what is to your mind the finest of music?”
“The top of music is the ring of a spear on a shield,” cried the stout lad.
“It is a good sound,” said Fionn.
And the other champions told their delight; the belling of a stag across water, the baying of a tuneful pack heard in the distance, the song of a lark, the laugh of a gleeful girl, or the whisper of a moved one.
“They are good sounds all,” said Fionn.
“Tell us, chief,” one ventured, “what you think?”
“The music of what happens,”
said great Fionn,
“that is the finest music in the world.”

And so as it happens is the music of my little daughter back from shopping with her Mammy and running to hug me...and not letting a new laid path stop her...her footsteps slowing down until I pluck her from there and hoist her in the air. Her little kisses and joy the only music in all my world. Could any man be richer than I with the music of what happens.

FOOTSTEPS SET IN TIME

The lightness of
your footstep

as you hurried to me

caught in the slowly setting
concrete
you didn’t see

holds your fleeting love
permanently  

your footsteps
greedy for me

paying no attention
to the world whatever

only knowing that
in a few footsteps more

you would be precious
and adored for who you are

your footsteps
still exist

echoing inside my tears

as I put my next step
inside yours

and the snow fills
the other   footsteps        up.

I FOREVER HIS GRAVE

he stares at the German
the German stares at him
one of them is dead...he hopes...it's not him

the German's blonde hair
streaked through
with mud and blood

he could be looking
almost at himself
they share the same face

the same moustache
the same mole
on the left cheek

Death's little joke
it looks like he has
killed himself

he's surprised
to find himself
still alive

"I had to **** him
in order to be in
the next moment!"

"Odd to think
that your death was necessary
for me to be alive!"

the wallet shows
a typical family...a typical wife
her name is Hildegard

they long for him
to come home
to them

"I've no one
waiting for me
not even myself!"

here he remains
buried in my mind
I forever his grave


*

This comes from a nice old fellow I used to look after and he told me all his WW2 stories and of his Da's in the First World War. He told me of his Da having to **** a German in hand to hand combat...the first man he had ever killed and how much physically they had both looked like each other so much so that he thought he was killing himself. He had to **** many more men in his war but this first man was the one he always remembered. Not only because they could have been twins but because this was the taboo of killing broken and the next time and the next time didn't matter. They came through a misty graveyard and both soldiers were surprised and startled to see each other. Later the graveyard was bombed and the long dead and the recently dead were thrown up into the air. After experiencing such horror....real life back at home...could never be the same. He said he was forever killing that one German.

FORGIVE ME...YOUR KISSES ARE DELICIOUS!

(Apologies to W.C.W)

So much depends
upon

your bright red mouth
& white white teeth

as our lips meet
& our eyes glaze over

with love as bright
as rainwater.

"...FOR GREED ALL NATURE IS TOO LITTLE..."

first the city
ate an adjacent town then

put out a suburb
like a great paw

belched
a factory

devoured a well known
beauty spot

that was soon
forgotten as such

ate a field and
ate another field

the city's hunger
fed by greed

sent out pylons
striding across countryside

like giant
alien beings

vomiting asphalt
so that green was as if

it had
never been

its scenic magnificence
now only available

in an out of print
1930's guide book

even its memory
dying now with old Joe Hart

who managed to make it
past the hundred mark

the town he was born in
no longer to be seen

except in sepia
or Kodachrome

a picture postcard
(3 for 2)

in the bright new
museum.

*

The title is supplied by one Seneca the Younger (c. 4 BC – AD 65) that well known and renowned Roman Stoic philosopher, statesman, dramatist.

FOR GREED ALL NATURE IS TOO LITTLE

first the city
ate an adjacent town then

put out a suburb
like a great paw

belched
a factory

devoured a well known
beauty spot

that was soon
forgotten as such

ate a field and
ate another field

the city's hunger
fed by greed

sent out pylons
striding across countryside

like giant
alien beings

vomiting asphalt
so that green was if

it had
never been

its scenic magnificence
now only available

in an out of print
1930's guide book

even its memory
dying now with old Joe Hart

who managed to make it
past the hundred mark

the town he was born in
no longer to be seen

except in sepia
or Kodachrome

a picture postcard
(3 for 2)

in the bright new
museum.

"...FOR GREED ALL NATURE IS TOO LITTLE..."

first the city
ate an adjacent town then

put out a suburb
like a great paw

belched
a factory

devoured a well known
beauty spot

that was soon
forgotten as such

ate a field and
ate another field

the city's hunger
fed by greed

sent out pylons
striding across countryside

like giant
alien beings

vomiting asphalt
so that green was as if

it had
never been

its scenic magnificence
now only available

in an out of print
1930's guide book

even its memory
dying now with old Joe Hart

who managed to make it
past the hundred mark

the town he was born in
no longer to be seen

except in sepia
or Kodachrome

a picture postcard
(3 for 2)

in the bright new
museum.

*

The title is supplied by one Seneca the Younger (c. 4 BC – AD 65) that well known and renowned Roman Stoic philosopher, statesman, dramatist.

"FOR HE WILL NOT DO DESTRUCTION IF..."

everything in the room
flowed like a river

towards the open window
that held Spring in its grasp

the billowing net curtains
holding the season prisoner

a blue so blue
one has to gasp

a green that made
one feel so alive

even the walls
rushed towards it

trying to escape
their own room

a chair
lying on its back

like an insect
trying to right itself

but furious
at failing

a picture had been
knocked sideways

and a trail
of broken mirror

led to the ledge
showing the room itself

in small and smaller
fragments

the clock alarmed
to find itself

on the carpet
its battery flung just

out of reach
time gone quiet

the cat careless
of this trail of destruction

now poised
upon the shiny table

knocking over
the geranium ***

gazing in green
eyes towards

the portal
of the open window

that led to
the great beyond

the feline leaping
into the what's to come

leaving this human
room behind

"FOR HE WILL NOT DO DESTRUCTION IF..."

everything in the room
flowed like a river

towards the open window
that held Spring in its grasp

the billowing net curtains
holding the season prisoner

a blue so blue
one has to gasp

a green that made
one feel so alive

even the walls
rushed towards it

trying to escape
their own room

a chair
lying on its back

like an insect
trying to right itself

but furious
at failing

a picture had been
knocked sideways

and a trail
of broken mirror

led to the ledge
showing the room itself

in small and smaller
fragments

the clock alarmed
to find itself

on the carpet
its battery flung just

out of reach
time gone quiet

the cat careless
of this trail of destruction

now poised
upon the shiny table

knocking over
the geranium ***

gazing in green
eyes towards

the portal
of the open window

that led to
the great beyond

the feline leaping
into the what's to come

leaving this human
room behind

*

The title is taken from one of the most delightful and best-known poems in praise of a house cat, Christopher Smart’s “My Cat, Jeoffry” which is actually one section of a much more complex and difficult work entitled Jubilate Agno (Latin for “Rejoice in the Lamb”), composed while the poet was locked in a private madhouse because of religious mania in 1759 or 1760.

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.

"FOR HE WILL NOT DO DESTRUCTION IF..."

everything in the room
flowed like a river
towards the open window

that held Spring in its grasp
the billowing net curtains
holding the season prisoner

a blue so blue
one has to gasp
a green that made

one feel so alive
even the walls
rushed towards it

trying to escape
their own room
a chair

lying on its back
like an insect
trying to right itself

but furious
at failing
a picture had been

knocked sideways
and a trail
of broken mirror

led to the ledge
showing the room itself
in small and smaller fragments

the clock alarmed
to find itself
on the carpet

its battery flung just
out of reach
time gone quiet

the cat careless
of this trail of destruction
now poised

upon the shiny table
knocking over
the geranium ***

gazing in green
eyes towards
the portal

of the open window
that led to
the great beyond

the feline
leaping
into the what's

to come
leaving this human
room behind

*

The title is taken from one of the most delightful and best-known poems in praise of a house cat, Christopher Smart’s “My Cat, Jeoffry” which is actually one section of a much more complex and difficult work entitled Jubilate Agno (Latin for “Rejoice in the Lamb”), composed while the poet was locked in a private madhouse because of religious mania in 1759 or 1760.  

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.

FOR  HIM ALSO I POURED OUT MANY TEARS

I follow in the footsteps of
Mary Queen of Scots.

Time has fallen away.
It is another Fotheringay day.

its where & when
no longer matters.

A bird sings the morning
into being

Mary & I both
listening

to the self
same song.

Time no longer holds sway.
History has run away.

The moment holds
its own

amidst a sea
of seconds we

escape Time's clutches
share the song

the bird creates for us

the morning shivering
in the  heat haze

of now.

FOR  HIM ALSO I POURED OUT MANY TEARS

I follow in the footsteps of
Mary Queen of Scots.

Time has fallen away.
It is another Fortheringay day.

its where & when
no longer matters.

A bird sings the morning
into being

Mary & I both
listening

to the self
same song.

Time no longer holds sway.
History has run away.

The moment holds
its own

amidst a sea
of seconds we

escape Time's clutches
share the song

the bird creates for us

the morning shivering
in the  heat haze

of now.

*

For him also I poured out many tears
First when he made himself possessor of this body.
Of which then he had not the heart.
After he gave me one other hard charge,
When he bled great quantities of blood,
Through which great sorrow brought further sadness to me
That almost carried away my life, and the fear
Of losing the only strength that armed me.

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS

Visiting Fotheringay whilst reading her poetry and singing Sandy Denny to myself.,...a bird joined in and time  seemed to collapse in upon itself and Mary and I shared the same moment.

FOR SALE: A LIFE – ONLY ONE...CAREFUL OWNER.

He was pretending
to be

alive
now that he was dead.

He tried on
his life

& it felt more real
than it had originally done.

His life
fitted him(somehow) better

this time
‘round.

Being dead
gave life an edge

it hadn’t had
when he was alive.

God...his funeral
was boring

as hell.

And in this rain.

He would have left
if he had a choice.

But now
he had the choice

of only no
choice.

He took off
his life again

& laid it gently
over a nearby tombstone

got back
into the grave

(he was tired of it
all now)

& thought he
would like to sleep

for a long
long time.

FOR THE BOTH OF US

He has his best friend's
heart

beating deep
within him.

The pulse pushing the blood
from the here of him to

the there of him.

He remembers listening to it
when it was Pierre's heart.

Now, Pierre's heart's
...his.

After the accident it is what
keeps him alive.

He watches Pierre's mother
watching him & wish

she was still looking at
Pierre.

He feels guilty
to have survived.

He cries at night &
at odd moments in the day.

"I am living this life..."
he tells Pierre.

"I am living this life
...for the both of us."

FOR THE BOTH OF US

He has his best friend's
heart

beating deep
within him.

The pulse pushing the blood
from the here of him to

the there of him.

He remembers listening to it
when it was Pierre's heart.

Now, Pierre's heart's
...his.

After the accident it is what
keeps him alive.

He watches Pierre's mother
watching him & wish

she was still looking at
Pierre.

He feels guilty
to have survived.

He cries at night &
at odd moments in the day.

"I am living this life..."
he tells Pierre.

"I am living this life
...for the both of us."

FOR THERE YOU WERE

The room was
restless.

The room waited and
(held its breath )and

...waited.

The room didn't know
what to do.

"Where....were. . .you?"

I looked in all the places
that you weren't.

Hoping I
could wish you into being.

The room was getting annoyed
at my going out and...

....going in again again.

Even the sea and the sky
were getting agitated.

Somewhere between a
tick and a

tock I
fell asleep.

Woke to find the room
flooded with sunlight

looking pleased with itself
as if it had created you.

For there
...you were.

FOR THERE YOU WERE

The room was
restless.

The room waited and
(held its breath )and

...waited.

The room didn't know
what to do.

"Where....were. . .you?"

I looked in all the places
that you weren't.

Hoping I
could wish you into being.

The room was getting annoyed
at my going out and...

....going in again again.

Even the sea and the sky
were getting agitated.

Somewhere between a
tick and a

tock I
fell asleep.

Woke to find the room
flooded with sunlight

looking pleased with itself
as if it had created you.

For there
...you were.

FOR THERE YOU WERE

The room was
restless.

The room waited and
(held its breath )and

...waited.

The room didn't know
what to do.

"Where....were. . .you?"

I looked in all the places
that you weren't.

Hoping I
could wish you into being.

The room was getting annoyed
at my going out and...

....going in again again.

Even the sea and the sky
were getting agitated.

Somewhere between a
tick and a

tock I
fell asleep.

Woke to find the room
flooded with sunlight

looking pleased with itself
as if it had created you.

For there
...you were.

FOR WHAT ARE WORDS WORTH

I wandered lonely
through a crowd

lost to myself now
that I'd lost you

gathering even your footsteps
peeling your shadow from my wall

remembering that lost last kiss
did it have to end like this

"...beside the lake, beneath the trees....
...when all at once I saw a...."

host of saffroned monks
their robes " ...fluttering and dancing

in the breeze..." and behind them
bunches and bunches  of daffodils

outside a florist
chanting Hare Krishna

in all their yellow voices
delighting in their day

and for a second I
forgot my pain

dancing across a zebra crossing
with an old old woman and

a little
yapping dog.