A HUMAN IS CRYING

the dog is dreaming
under the piano
asleep across its foot pedals

the clock announces the seconds
in a loud hear ye hear ye
town cryer's voice

a bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass
of a cracked window pane

Time is
defeated
a human is crying

Time is different
for the clock, the bee and
the crying human

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief.
his brother is dead

somewhere in the journey
around the sun
he has left the planet

earth continues on
without him
he sees his brother everywhere

strangers
wear his face
walk with his gait

he almost expects to hear
his voice in the dark
at the turn of the stairs

he sees him many times
in many mirrors
or in the back of a spoon

his face trapped
in a cobweb
it always appears as if...

as if
he has just left
the room and

will be back
any second now
but: he isn't. . .

the dog is still
asleep under the piano
the clock has run

out of time
the silence
is terrifying

the bee it seems is
dozing
on the window ledge

the human
is crying
...crying

A HUMAN IS CRYING

The dog is dreaming
under the piano

asleep across
its foot pedals.

The clock announces
the seconds

in a loud hear ye hear ye
town crier's voice.

A bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass

of a cracked
window pane.

Time is defeated.

A human is crying.

Time is different
for the clock, the bee and

the crying human.

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief.

His brother is dead.

Somewhere in the journey
around the sun

he has left the planet.

Earth continues on
without him.

He sees his brother
everywhere.

Strangers
wear his face.

Walk with his gait.

He almost expects
to hear

his voice in the dark
at the turn of the stairs.

He sees him many times
in many mirrors.

Or in the back of a spoon.

His face trapped
in a cobweb.

It always appears
as if...as if

he has just left
the room and

will be back
any second now

but: he isn't. . .

The dog is still
asleep under the piano.

The clock has run
out of time.

The silence is terrifying.

The bee it seems is
dozing on the window ledge.

The human
is crying.

A HUMAN IS CRYING

The dog is dreaming
under the piano

asleep across
its foot pedals.

The clock announces
the seconds

in a loud hear ye hear ye
town cryer's voice.

A bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass

of a cracked
window pane.

Time is defeated.

A human is crying.

Time is different
for the clock, the bee and

the crying human.

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief.

His brother is dead.

Somewhere in the journey
around the sun

he has left the planet.

Earth continues on
without him.

He sees his brother
everywhere.

Strangers
wear his face.

Walk with his gait.

He almost expects
to hear

his voice in the dark
at the turn of the stairs.

He sees him many times
in many mirrors.

Or in the back of a spoon.

His face trapped
in a cobweb.

It always appears
as if...as if

he has just left
the room and

will be back
any second now

but: he isn't. . .

The dog is still
asleep under the piano.

The clock has run
out of time.

The silence is terrifying.

The bee it seems is
dozing on the window ledge.

The human
is crying.

A HUMAN IS CRYING

The dog is dreaming
under the piano

asleep across
its foot pedals.

The clock announces
the seconds

in a loud hear ye hear ye
town crier's voice.

A bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass

of a cracked
window pane.

Time is defeated.

A human is crying.

Time is different
for the clock, the bee and

the crying human.

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief.

His brother is dead.

Somewhere in the journey
around the sun

he has left the planet.

Earth continues on
without him.

He sees his brother
everywhere.

Strangers
wear his face.

Walk with his gait.

He almost expects
to hear

his voice in the dark
at the turn of the stairs.

He sees him many times
in many mirrors.

Or in the back of a spoon.

His face trapped
in a cobweb.

It always appears
as if...as if

he has just left
the room and

will be back
any second now

but: he isn't. . .

The dog is still
asleep under the piano.

The clock has run
out of time.

The silence is terrifying.

The bee it seems is
dozing on the window ledge.

The human
is crying.

*

My brother's death stripped me of everything...the who I am...my name...my identity...I was reduced down to this human symbol...just like the dog...the this...the that...who as it happens is...crying. As if a computer was merely registering the things in the picture.

A HUMAN IS CRYING

The dog is dreaming
under the piano

asleep across
its foot pedals.

The clock announces
the seconds

in a loud hear ye hear ye
town cryer's voice.

A bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass

of a cracked
window pane.

Time is defeated.

A human is crying.

Time is different
for the clock, the bee and

the crying human.

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief.

His brother is dead.

Somewhere in the journey
around the sun

he has left the planet.

Earth continues on
without him.

He sees his brother
everywhere.

Strangers
wear his face.

Walk with his gait.

He almost expects
to hear

his voice in the dark
at the turn of the stairs.

He sees him many times
in many mirrors.

Or in the back of a spoon.

His face trapped
in a cobweb.

It always appears
as if...as if

he has just left
the room and

will be back
any second now

but: he isn't. . .

The dog is still
asleep under the piano.

The clock has run
out of time.

The silence is terrifying.

The bee it seems is
dozing on the window ledge.

The human
is crying.

A HUMAN IS CRYING

The dog is dreaming
under the piano

asleep across
its foot pedals.

The clock announces
the seconds

in a loud hear ye hear ye
town crier's voice.

A bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass

of a cracked
window pane.

Time is defeated.

A human is crying.

Time is different
for the clock, the bee and

the crying human.

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief.

His brother is dead.

Somewhere in the journey
around the sun

he has left the planet.

Earth continues on
without him.

He sees his brother
everywhere.

Strangers
wear his face.

Walk with his gait.

He almost expects
to hear

his voice in the dark
at the turn of the stairs.

He sees him many times
in many mirrors.

Or in the back of a spoon.

His face trapped
in a cobweb.

It always appears
as if...as if

he has just left
the room and

will be back
any second now

but: he isn't. . .

The dog is still
asleep under the piano.

The clock has run
out of time.

The silence is terrifying.

The bee it seems is
dozing on the window ledge.

The human
is crying.

*

My brother's death stripped me of everything...the who I am...my name...my identity...I was reduced down to this human symbol...just like the dog...the this...the that...who as it happens is...crying. As if a computer was merely registering the things in the picture.

A KISS OF RAIN

written inside him
with wild calligraphy
the littlest of her smiles

it was raining hard
the kiss hardly a kiss
unmaking making the world

the kiss
making him all at once
aware of his existence

the kiss now
making them oblivious
of a world turned to rain

rain & laughter rain&laughter
he kisses her like a happy
ever after

A KISS OF RAIN

written inside him
with wild calligraphy
the littlest of her smiles

it was raining hard
the kiss hardly a kiss
unmaking-making the world

the kiss
making him all at once
aware of his existence

the kiss now
making them oblivious
of a world turned to rain

rain & laughter rain&laughter
he kisses her like a happy
ever after

A KISS OF RAIN

written inside him
with wild calligraphy
the littlest of her smiles

it was raining hard
the kiss hardly a kiss
unmaking making the world

the kiss
making him all at once
aware of his existence

the kiss now
making them oblivious
of a world turned to rain

rain & laughter rain&laughter
he kisses her like a happy
ever after

A KISS OF RAIN

written inside him
with wild calligraphy
the littlest of her smiles

it was raining hard
the kiss hardly a kiss
unmaking making the world

the kiss
making him all at once
aware of his existence

the kiss now
making them oblivious
of a world turned to rain

rain & laughter rain&laughter;
he kisses her like a happy
ever after

A KISS OF RAIN

written inside him
with wild calligraphy
the littlest of her smiles

it was raining hard
the kiss hardly a kiss
unmaking making the world

the kiss
making him all at once
aware of his existence

the kiss now
making them oblivious
of a world turned to rain

rain & laughter rain&laughter
he kisses her like a happy
ever after

A KISS OF RAIN

written inside him
with wild calligraphy
the littlest of her smiles

it was raining hard
the kiss hardly a kiss
unmaking-making the world

the kiss
making him all at once
aware of his existence

the kiss now
making them oblivious
of a world turned to rain

rain & laughter rain&laughter;
he kisses her like a happy
ever after

A LATE 1962-ISH PUDDLE

It was a late 1962-ish
puddle.

A Curragh puddle
to be exact

but you
...wouldn't know that.

A moon had fallen
asleep in it

with scattered silver stars
nailing it to the ground.

I was 6-ish
by then &

had encountered more
puddles than you

could ever splash
about in.

But, this was
the first puddle

I ever
remember.

An Ur-puddle.

To the rest of the world
it was as if

it had never been &
existed only for me.

A robin stood
at my side.

Us both...staring at the puddle.

Suddenly the robin
made up its mind &

stepped defiantly
into this miniature ocean.

The robin stood on the moon
which shattered &

reformed itself about
its tiny feet.

It was the first robin
I'd seen

walking on the moon.

The puddle lived
inside my head

for many many
years until

these words came along
and took it away.

It was like the hand
of a man

long long before
history was invented

pressed against
the flickering cave wall

leaving a sooty hand print
in celebration of himself.

"This mark means
me!"

My late 1962-ish
Curragh puddle

and that robin walking
on a watery moon

is my handprint
on the cave wall

of my mind
in the long long ago.

I laugh at
the me-ness of me!

ALLONE, WITHOUTEN ANY  COMPAIGNYE

There was no sound.

There was no silence.

There was just an absence
of both.

The world too
had somehow disappeared.

Nothing existed except
me

and your death.

Death was the no-sound.

Death was the silence
beyond silence.

Death was the vanished world.

For a split second it was
painless.

As if I existed
inside a vacuum.

Suddenly the world
flooded back

silence and sound
returned.

I was alive.

Your death stared me
in the face.

It had become
a fact.

There was now
nothing but pain.

A shirt on the line
came alive

filled with form
then died again.

An innocent morning
unaware of how

it would always be
remembered for ever.

The apple pie
in the oven

had begun to burn.

A magpie
sauntered up

the crazy
paving.

ALLONE, WITHOUTEN ANY  COMPAIGNYE

There was no sound.

There was no silence.

There was just an absence
of both.

The world too
had somehow disappeared.

Nothing existed except
me

and your death.

Death was the no-sound.

Death was the silence
beyond silence.

Death was the vanished world.

For a split second it was
painless.

As if I existed
inside a vacuum.

Suddenly the world
flooded back

silence and sound
returned.

I was alive.

Your death stared me
in the face.

It had become
a fact.

There was now
nothing but pain.

A shirt on the line
came alive

filled with form
then died again.

An innocent morning
unaware of how

it would always be
remembered for ever.

The apple pie
in the oven

had begun to burn.

A magpie
sauntered up

the crazy
paving.

she a palimpsest of all she ever was
the little girl smiling
through her seventy year old self

ALL TAFFETA & TULLE

Frightened by the storm
he crawls under

his mother’s skirts
all taffeta & tulle

clinging to her
ankles

before falling
asleep

upon her feet.

She continues playing
her cards right

winning all before her

as the candles
gutter

and almost
go out.

She remembers her body
wrapped about him

her flesh
protecting his innocence

as now her dress
encloses his sleeping

unconsciously stroking
his hair

with her
left foot

his dreams now
pooled at her feet.

ALL TAFFETA & TULLE

(For Angie Baby)

Frightened by the storm
he crawls under

his mother’s skirts
all taffeta & tulle

clinging to her
ankles

before falling
asleep

upon her feet.

She continues playing
her cards right

winning all before her

as the candles
gutter

and almost
go out.

She remembers her body
wrapped about him

her flesh
protecting his innocence

as now her dress
encloses his sleeping

unconsciously stroking
his hair

with her
left foot

his dreams now
pooled at her feet.

ALL TAFFETA & TULLE

frightened by the storm
he crawls under
his mother’s skirts

all taffeta & tulle
clinging to her
ankles

before falling
asleep
upon her feet

she continues playing
her cards right
winning all before her

as the candles
gutter
and almost go out

she remembers her body
wrapped about him
her flesh

protecting his innocence
as now her dress
encloses his sleeping

unconsciously stroking
his hair
with her left foot

his dreams
now
pooled at her feet

ALL TAFFETA & TULLE

Frightened by the storm
he crawls under

his mother’s skirts
all taffeta & tulle

clinging to her
ankles

before falling
asleep

upon her feet.

She continues playing
her cards right

winning all before her

as the candles
gutter

and almost
go out.

She remembers her body
wrapped about him

her flesh
protecting his innocence

as now her dress
encloses his sleeping

unconsciously stroking
his hair

with her
left foot

his dreams now
pooled at her feet.

ALL TAFFETA & TULLE

Frightened by the storm
he crawls under

his mother’s skirts
all taffeta & tulle

clinging to her
ankles

before falling
asleep

upon her feet.

She continues playing
her cards right

winning all before her

as the candles
gutter

and almost
go out.

She remembers her body
wrapped about him

her flesh
protecting his innocence

as now her dress
encloses his sleeping

unconsciously stroking
his hair

with her
left foot

his dreams now
pooled at her feet.

ALL TAFFETA & TULLE

Frightened by the storm
he crawls under

his mother’s skirts
all taffeta & tulle

clinging to her
ankles

before falling
asleep

upon her feet.

She continues playing
her cards right

winning all before her

as the candles
gutter

and almost
go out.

She remembers her body
wrapped about him

her flesh
protecting his innocence

as now her dress
encloses his sleeping

unconsciously stroking
his hair

with her
left foot

his dreams now
pooled at her feet.

ALL TAFFETA & TULLE

(For Angie Baby)

Frightened by the storm
he crawls under

his mother’s skirts
all taffeta & tulle

clinging to her
ankles

before falling
asleep

upon her feet.

She continues playing
her cards right

winning all before her

as the candles
gutter

and almost
go out.

She remembers her body
wrapped about him

her flesh
protecting his innocence

as now her dress
encloses his sleeping

unconsciously stroking
his hair

with her
left foot

his dreams now
pooled at her feet.

ALL TAFFETA & TULLE

(For Angie Baby)

Frightened by the storm
he crawls under

his mother’s skirts
all taffeta & tulle

clinging to her
ankles

before falling
asleep

upon her feet.

She continues playing
her cards right

winning all before her

as the candles
gutter

and almost
go out.

She remembers her body
wrapped about him

her flesh
protecting his innocence

as now her dress
encloses his sleeping

unconsciously stroking
his hair

with her
left foot

his dreams now
pooled at her feet.

*

She was a remarkable woman with only a stump for a right arm but could play piano beautifully with her left alone. She also had a talent for  being able to do things with her feet just like you and I would use the hand. I remember her little boy being born and watching him crawl into being a fully fledged tottering walker. There was a great big storm and we were reduced to candlelight and kept on playing cards. Her little boy, for little boy he then was, crawled under the table and fell asleep for comfort at her feet. She continued the card game but stroked his hair with her foot as she played and went on a winning streak A woman doing the fabled multi-tasking but with a unique
difference.

Someone once said why didn't i write that detail about the arm into the poem but this poem wasn't about that and anyway it didn't define her or her life. What was remarkable was the terrible tender gesture of her hushing him to sleep with her foot whilst stroking his hair and...winning hands down. It was the beautiful gesture in the fantastic situation that eclipsed anything else.

ALL THE FIELDS OF THE FARM

Spring had blossomed
into being

infecting him
like a virus.

He could feel the season
run wild in his blood

making him
want to run

to all the fields of the farm
and all the fields of the farm

welcomed him knew him
as a growing thing

this the youngest
of his days.

He ran for only
the beauty of the running

the joy of being
alive

to be the boy he was
in this moment.

The freedom of not
needing to name or own

in order to understand
the existence of this now.

And when he returned
from all the directions

that the wind had to
offer

a boy of cuts and scratches
a smile stained with blackberries

burrs cling to him
for dear life

shirt torn
honeysuckle strewn

he was no longer
the boy who

had run off into
the beginning of spring

but had become
through his joy

all the fields
of the farm.

ALL THE FUN OF THE FEAR

drifting through The Tunnel of Love
squeals screams & kisses
fumbling towards marriage

Hall of Mirrors
trying to escape my self
many times over

candy floss
sick on a stick
puked pavements

three drunks
clattering like skeletons
escaped from the Ghost Train

carousel music
dragons chase horses
the drunks try to step offffffffffffffffff....

car crash
the dodgems
minus the laughter

the Big Wheel leaves us
high above it all
stuck up in the sky

ALL THE FUN OF THE FEAR

drifting through The Tunnel of Love
squeals screams & kisses
fumbling towards marriage

Hall of Mirrors
trying to escape my self
many times over

candy floss
sick on a stick
puked pavements

three drunks
clattering like skeletons
escaped from the Ghost Train

carousel music
dragons chase horses
the drunks try to step offffffffffffffffff....

car crash
the dodgems
minus the laughter

the Big Wheel leaves us
high above it all
stuck up in the sky

ALL THE FUN OF THE FEAR

drifting through The Tunnel of Love
squeals screams & kisses
fumbling towards marriage

Hall of Mirrors
trying to escape my self
many times over

candy floss
sick on a stick
puked pavements

three drunks
clattering like skeletons
escaped from the Ghost Train

carousel music
dragons chase horses
the drunks try to step offffffffffffffffff....

car crash
the dodgems
minus the laughter

the Big Wheel leaves us
high above it all
stuck up in the sky

ALL THESE PEOPLE CAN'T BE ME SURELY?

ha ha and
here I am
a plump baby

as ever there was
the sort
only a mother could love

grown now
into a sturdy toddler
to be sure

and now
a big boy
already

the spit of
my older self
in my young face

and in a snip
in another snap
my teenage self arrives

photo after photo
I grew out of the album
and there my name

written in violet ink
if evidence was needed
of me being me

summers and winters
come and go
as do the years

this surely 1945
this maybe
perhaps 1972

time passes
all in black and white until
there is my Kodachrome self

now I live
my life
in glorious colour

so many
Polaroid
mes to be

the photos change
and age
as time grows older

yet I remain
a man of many years
too many years

still the young boy
I was
trapped now in this old body

soon the album
will be thrown in a skip
along with all the years

the nice lady
who claims to be
my wife

sighs at my indifference
brushes a tear away
when she thinks I'm not looking

but I have run out
of people
to be

tired of
all this
living lark

Death will be
welcomed when
it comes

ALL THESE PEOPLE CAN'T BE ME SURELY?

ha ha and
here I am
a plump baby

as ever there was
the sort
only a mother could love

grown now
into a sturdy toddler
to be sure

and now
a big boy
already

the spit of
my older self
in my young face

and in a snip
in another snap
my teenage self arrives

photo after photo
I grew out of the album
and there my name

written in violet ink
if evidence was needed
of me being me

summers and winters
come and go
as do the years

this surely 1945
this maybe
perhaps 1972

time passes
all in black and white until
there is my Kodachrome self

now I live
my life
in glorious colour

so many
Polaroid
mes to be

the photos change
and age
as time grows older

yet I remain
a man of many years
too many years

still the young boy
I was
trapped now in this old body

soon the album
will be thrown in a skip
along with all the years

the nice lady
who claims to be
my wife

sighs at my indifference
brushes a tear away
when she thinks I'm not looking

but I have run out
of people
to be

tired of
all this
living lark

Death will be
welcomed when
it comes

ALL THE WAY DOWN THE LINE

yes, I have forgotten
you are dead
and I turn to you:

"Did you see that?"
but Death has stolen
your eyes.

so you
see
nothing

bits and pieces of you
vanishing day by day
as if you are being erased

I still cling onto your smile
Death
isn't having that

and I am still
in possession
of your voice

it's tone...the slant of it
the heft of a syllable
a last few remaining phrases

I still talk to you.
ask your opinion
"The red or the blue?"

your ghost smiles
plays along
with the charade

I hear you say
( in my voice )
as if sound could be

forged
this counterfeit
you

"Oh the red...the red
all the time
all the way down the line!"

ALL THE WAY DOWN THE LINE

Yes, I have forgotten
you

are dead
and turn to you

"Did you see that?"

But Death has stolen
your eyes.

So you see
nothing.

Bits and pieces of you
vanishing day by day

as if you are being
erased.

I still cling onto
your smile.

Death
isn't having that.

And I am still
in possession of your voice.

It's tone
the slant of it

the heft of a syllable
a last few remaining phrases.

I still talk to you.
Ask your opinion.

"The red or the blue?"

Your ghost smiles
plays along with the charade.

I hear you say
( in my voice )

as if sound could be
forged

this counterfeit you.

"Oh the red...the red all the time
all the way down the line!"

ALL THE WAY DOWN THE LINE

Yes, I have forgotten
you

are dead
and turn to you:

"Did you see that?"

But Death has stolen
your eyes.

So you see
nothing.

Bits and pieces of you
vanishing day by day

as if you are being
erased.

I still cling onto
your smile.

Death
isn't having that.

And I am still
in possession of your voice.

It's tone
the slant of it

the heft of a syllable
a last few remaining phrases.

I still talk to you.
Ask your opinion.

"The red or the blue?"

Your ghost smiles
plays along with the charade.

I hear you say
( in my voice )

as if sound could be
forged

this counterfeit you.

"Oh the red...the red all the time
all the way down the line!"

ALL THE WAY DOWN THE LINE

Yes, I have forgotten
you

are dead
and turn to you:

"Did you see that?"

But Death has stolen
your eyes.

So you see
nothing.

Bits and pieces of you
vanishing day by day

as if you are being
erased.

I still cling onto
your smile.

Death
isn't having that.

And I am still
in possession of your voice.

It's tone
the slant of it

the heft of a syllable
a last few remaining phrases.

I still talk to you.
Ask your opinion.

"The red or the blue?"

Your ghost smiles
plays along with the charade.

I hear you say
( in my voice )

as if sound could be
forged

this counterfeit you.

"Oh the red...the red all the time
all the way down the line!"

ALL THE WAY DOWN THE LINE

Yes, I have forgotten
you

are dead
and turn to you:

"Did you see that?"

But Death has stolen
your eyes.

So you see
nothing.

Bits and pieces of you
vanishing day by day

as if you are being
erased.

I still cling onto
your smile.

Death
isn't having that.

And I am still
in possession of your voice.

It's tone
the slant of it

the heft of a syllable
a last few remaining phrases.

I still talk to you.
Ask your opinion.

"The red or the blue?"

Your ghost smiles
plays along with the charade.

I hear you say
( in my voice )

as if sound could be
forged

this counterfeit you.

"Oh the red...the red all the time
all the way down the line!"

ALL THE WAY FROM 1967

I can still hear myself
crying

all the way from 1967
when I was 9.

The crying has never stopped
echoing through all the ages

I've ever been.

You: had died and
I had asked

God to give you
back.

When that didn't work.
I asked for a swap.

I tried to put it as simply as I
could

so that even a God
could understand.

"Take me - instead..."
I said to God

as if talking to some foreigner
in a too loud voice

as if that would....
"..put her back!"

He didn't.

I had the feeling that
He couldn't.

"Some God you are!"
I howled in disbelief.

I went out in the Curragh Plains
and wept.

And wept.

So that only a few hundred sheep
and some scattered clouds

could hear.

The clouds were only here
for the day.

The sheep lived only
for the moment.

Almost 5,000 acres
could not contain my grief.

The Curragh blazed yellow
with furze.

The world was as beautiful as
it could ever be.

But not for me.

I keep trying to go back
to the me of then

take him in my arms
give him the comfort I

never had
but like God

...I can't.

I can still hear his forever
crying

this 9 year old boy
who I always am

crying all the way
from 1967.

ALL THE WAY FROM CHICAGO
( for my aunt Peggy )

"I used to
know me
but now

I've become
someone else
another me

at odds
with who
I used to be!"

Aunt Peggy
in her American clothes
American mannerisms

glad to have changed
sad to have changed
at the same time

the girl who
was left behind
fading into a photograph

the young woman
who left
the lady who returned

she mussing my hair
"Gee you got curls
just like a girl's!"

she taking me
into her thoughts
despite my nine years

I loved her
just as
she was

two people
in the one
aunt

ALL THE WAY FROM CHICAGO
( for my aunt Peggy )

"I used to
know me
but now

I've become
someone else
another me

at odds
with who
I used to be!"

Aunt Peggy
in her American clothes
American mannerisms

glad to have changed
sad to have changed
at the same time

the girl who
was left behind
fading into a photograph

the young woman
who left
the lady who returned

she mussing my hair
"Gee you got curls
just like a girl's!"

she taking me
into her thoughts
despite my nine years

I loved her
just as
she was

two people
in the one
aunt

ALL THIS AND HEAVEN TOO

And so, we celebrate our love
as if it were a religion to be believed in

& praise our days
& all the ways
that we discover

to love one another.

Each touch...a parable.
Each kiss...a little miracle.

You are sunlight
stained & transformed by glass.

You are a candle
kissing & caressing the dark.

You are incense
mingled with music.

You are the hymn
that ends & begins
& transcends all things.

Each kiss...a parable.
Each touch...a little miracle.

ALL THIS AND HEAVEN TOO

And so, we celebrate our love
as if it were a religion to be believed in

& praise our days
& all the ways

that we discover
to love one another.

Each touch...a parable.
Each kiss...a little miracle.

You are sunlight
stained & transformed by glass.

You are a candle
kissing & caressing the dark.

You are incense
mingled with music.

You are the hymn
that ends & begins
& transcends all things.

Each kiss...a parable.
Each touch...a little miracle.

ALL THIS AND HEAVEN TOO

And so, we celebrate our love
as if it were a religion to be believed in

& praise our days
& all the ways
that we discover

to love one another.

Each touch...a parable.
Each kiss...a little miracle.

You are sunlight
stained & transformed by glass.

You are a candle
kissing & caressing the dark.

You are incense
mingled with music.

You are the hymn
that ends & begins
& transcends all things.

Each kiss...a parable.
Each touch...a little miracle.

ALL THIS AND HEAVEN TOO

And so, we celebrate our love
as if it were a religion to be believed in

& praise our days
& all the ways

that we discover
to love one another.

Each touch...a parable.
Each kiss...a little miracle.

You are sunlight
stained & transformed by glass.

You are a candle
kissing & caressing the dark.

You are incense
mingled with music.

You are the hymn
that ends & begins
& transcends all things.

Each kiss...a parable.
Each touch...a little miracle.

ALL THIS AND HEAVEN TOO?

A bunch of angels
having fallen

kick a tin can around
in lieu of a football.

They are new to earth
and have nothing better to do.

They look a bit
the worse for wear.

The center forward
with an injured left wing

goes around an old shabby
angel who should know better

leaving him on his ***
after nut-meging him

before  sidefooting
the Heinz baked beans tin.

"Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!"
he hollers so Heaven can hear him.

The goalie the angel with
the ***** face blushes

having gone
the other way.

Immediately all hell breaks loose
and the angels don't hold back.

Kicks to shins kicks to knees
and other more sensitive areas.

Shouts of "No never...that
was clearly off side!"

Gabriel is using his trumpet
for a hearing aid and a deadly weapon.

A wino turns his bottle upside down
for the very last precious drop.

"That was defo offside!"
he burps.

The fallen angels
pay him no attention.

What would a mere
mortal know.

The wino staggers away.
"It was( hic! HIC!)never a goal!"

ALL THIS AND HEAVEN TOO?

A bunch of angels
having fallen

kick a tin can around
in lieu of a football.

They are new to earth
and have nothing better to do.

They look a bit
the worse for wear.

The center forward
with an injured left wing

goes around an old shabby
angel who should know better

leaving him on his ***
after nut-meging him

before  sidefooting
the Heinz baked beans tin.

"Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!"
he hollers so Heaven can hear him.

The goalie the angel with
the ***** face blushes

having gone
the other way.

Immediately all hell breaks loose
and the angels don't hold back.

Kicks to shins kicks to knees
and other more sensitive areas.

Shouts of "No never...that
was clearly off side!"

Gabriel is using his trumpet
for a hearing aid and a deadly weapon.

A wino turns his bottle upside down
for the very last precious drop.

"That was defo offside!"
he burps.

The fallen angels
pay him no attention.

What would a mere
mortal know.

The wino staggers away.
"It was( hic! HIC!)never a goal!"

And so, we celebrate our love
as if it were a religion to be believed in

& praise our days
& all the ways
that we discover

to love one another.

Each touch...a parable.
Each kiss...a little miracle.

You are sunlight
stained & transformed by glass.

You are a candle
kissing & caressing the dark.

You are incense
mingled with music.

You are the hymn
that ends & begins
& transcends all things.

Each kiss...a parable.
Each touch...a little miracle.

ALL THIS &...HEAVEN TOO!

And so, we celebrate our love
as if it were a religion to be believed in

& praise our days
& all the ways
that we discover

to love one another.

Each touch...a parable.
Each kiss...a little miracle.

You are sunlight
stained & transformed by glass.

You are a candle
kissing & caressing the dark.

You are incense
mingled with music.

You are the hymn
that ends & begins
& transcends all things.

Each kiss...a parable.
Each touch...a little miracle.

ALL THOSE THOUGHTS

that vacant stare

the here-not-here

thought gathering
these few seconds

of a world
of little or no

significance
consequence

a glance capturing
a bird in mid-flight

the dance of sunlight
through lime green leaves

a memory of her self
being all of four

the yellow pencil sharpener
held steadily in her hand

paring all the  coloured pencils
down to the last shavings

a swirl of frocks
dancing with each other

all these thoughts
scattered upon the air

all these thoughts lost
as

the bomb goes off.

ALL THOSE THOUGHTS

that vacant stare

the here-not-here

thought gathering
these few seconds

of a world
of little or no

significance
consequence

a glance capturing
a bird in mid-flight

the dance of sunlight
through lime green leaves

a memory of her self
being all of four

the yellow pencil sharpener
held steadily in her hand

paring all the  coloured pencils
down to the last shavings

a swirl of frocks
dancing with each other

all these thoughts
scattered upon the air

all these thoughts lost
as

the bomb goes off.

"...ALTHOUGH HE WAS LITTLE HIS HONOUR WAS GREAT..."

The only wren
I'd ever seen

displayed to me
with moonlight

as if deliberately
setting a scene.

I  unable ever
to forget.

Trees...leaves...even the breeze
polished to a shaprness

as the moon stepped out
from behind her clouds.

The little bird
wearing a star above its head.

The star delighted
with its small companion

unaware
( as stars are )

of the bird's
tiny death.

All this given as a gift
to the small boy

who could neither
understand or forget it

but forever  aware
that eternity and infinity

could combine
in this sublime

moment
that would last

for all time.

"ALTHOUGH I FOUND HER THUS, WE DID NOT PART..."

The wind walks
about St. Mark's Square

stooping to ******
this and that man's hat

or slyly lift
a lady's skirt

so that she drops
her purse with a curse

before chasing off
some offensive litter.

A cat watches the evening
getting entangled in the magic

of a hurdy-gurdy man
who appears

to have stepped out of
a century

other than
our own.

Venice and its passing
procession of pedestrians and cats

barely on the cusp
of consciousness.

This table I am
seated at

is an island
of memory

and I am
shipwrecked

somewhere between
the present and a past.

A wave slaps a gondola
as if it had told a ***** joke

about the filthy weather and
what a seagull had said.

I have brought you to Venice
because you have never been.

Your death has seen
to that.

One day as the earth turned
away from the sun

you stepped off
into a greater unknown.

Now, I say: "See, sister
with my eyes

all the future you
have missed.

The moon landing.
Me - grown to be

this man
willing to share the world

with you always
I see the world for two.

You shall exist
in the silence between

note and note
word and word

Puppets dance and laugh
show us ourselves for

whatever we are
all our gaudy follies

or brightly painted
foibles.

A moon sits upon
a bridge as if

it were  Humpty Dumpty
his very self.

The puppets now
half in-half out

of their many stickered
packing cases

look as if they could
run away when

the humans
aren't looking.

|Even the hurdy-gurdy man
has stepped back into

the century he had
come from.

Rain and a star
falling...falling.