Sweet Music

Trees in Ranui 012Quite florescent mist lingers after the rain

our mounts are quaking about the wind

The breeze when it blows is full of the salt of tears

They sense the incoming storm

Tenderfoot I feed them carrots pat them calm

Sweet music wills me towards you

Your stare transparent in my eyes

Me an urchin in your mirrors reflection

Dark and peaceful among the dream

The land is cracked and dried like the heart of wicked

I saddle my horse ready to ride

I shiver at the night’s air

You got me scattered in pieces

shining like stars and screaming

lighting me up like Venus

Playing your same sized violin.

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when I think

when i think
in the style of an old lament

 

when i think of
the friends
the few i have
that touch a distant
part of me where
the mystery of self
a flicker amongst
flickers in a vastness
is rolled back
a little
like a walk out along
a low-tide shore
when i think of
these friends
a hand across your
shoulder to lift
the yoke a little
more than enough
those friends you
sit back against like
that place where
trunk meets branch
with your feet
dangling clear of
the rip below
when i think of
these friends, death
pushing their face
into awful accident
or breaking them
down on the
bedrock of pain
clumsily slowly
as if it’s never done
the job before
when i think of
my friends, death
with its brand new
knife at their backs
i would weep
when i think of
the friends the
few i still
have.
 

september 2012
howick domain

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no other weather

     no other weather

raining
as if
there had
never been
any other kind
of weather
just this rain
settled in on
the volcanic hill
cloud right down
to the foot
as if it had rained
for a million years
before there
was grass there
ever was a hill
rain falling
out of the sky
since the sky’s
first making
falling since
that first
ever
dawn
brimming
in grey

5 august 2015
panmure

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oranges and lemons

        oranges and lemons

‘oranges and lemons
say the bells of st clements,
oranges and lemons
say the bells of st clements
oranges and lemons…‘*
a low sung afternoon
i learnt that round
on that concrete driveway
now in rain a stone’s
quick throw from the sea
we held each other’s
hands as someone stood in
the middle between
our linked arms we swung
up and over them and
the bells rang in
our voices and
we never grew old
and we grew old
and we never forgot
and we forgot
and we were bright
and hard to catch as
sun in rain and were
dark in the going down
of the tide and on
the full and we
smelt the oranges
and lemons on
each other
and that
was
true.

30 august 2014
bucklands beach, picton st, nelson st, howick

*From the children’s sung rhyme, one version which is (approximating to the one I remember) as follows:

Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement’s.

You owe me five farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin’s.

When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey.

When I grow rich,
Say the bells of Shoreditch.

When will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney.

I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow.

Here comes a candle
to light you to bed,

And here comes a chopper
to chop off your head

 

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The Attic (first poem posted)

 

My mind

attic to my house,
cluttered with antique furniture, paintings, books, boxes of pads of scribbled poetry, a grammar phone to listen to a collection of vinyls.

 

Dank and dusty

yet nothing to fear

of the memories embedded there

 

when its time

I can escape ambulance chasers,

attention seeking bible sellers

carpet baggers banging on the front door

news broadcasting tragedy dealers

 

doing their best to poison my soul

 

nonchalant

turning off,

pulling the curtains,

locking the doors

 

I unlatch the step ladder

ascending

to the garden of my temple

 

lighting a torch

to illuminate the verse

versing itself to the beat

of the sweet music

playing itself as background sound

 

meeting myself

I ignite my pen

seed it from opposite ends

joining it in the middle

 

feeling the glow

resonating from my heart

 

the attic becomes

my mandala

a sacred space

invoking

these lines

 

 

 

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