Gracefully they move up a path of flowers, past the towering oak, the laughing, bobbing faces of fritillarias. To each a stick, tapping the fine shingle, brass point raising dust for sensible brown shoes. Ladies of service; carers and helpers: nothing’s a bother, ladies a plate. Please. Dainty sandwiches, cut on the quarter, asparagus rolls,…
Month: November 2015
Rubble
1. In the next room tapping the stone wall, messaging you; I too am in ruins; and long for you; 2. hours, days; the decades lose distinction. Let us meet in some corner of the Gardens; the graveyard next door, at 1: it’s better in the morning; never a soul ever…
stops
on hearing his seventh to Ludwig Von Beethoven deaf to all but the twining melody of your thought how the gods stride through your symphonies out of and into the silence of the rest panmure 16 june, 2014 on hearing a Bach fugue for organ Bach is pumping out the air in immaculate amounts dark…
hinterland
But who can know who or what is real? I came to, breathing still, delicate air; the Dove at the Fountain, after which this place is named, is still there; and you too will come to lay here – in the flesh (if it be your will), I mean. It’s the sort of place birds…
Manifest
Looking like feathers that fell from doves, In the doorway, Your hair soaked from the rain, Eyes peering from beneath, Pools of heartbreak yearning, A pair to dance the waltz of ghosts, Balls of grief in your arms I beckon you in.
The Dawn
First there is blackness pricked with light, then tree lines come into view: dawn is at the gate. It lets out its light to startle a fence marching up a hill, a hunched house, a lone cat, low, white socks padding the dust, the great gum’s arms reaching ever up, leaves silver ticers. This is…
Interloper
She ranged, she was hastily creative, she hatched tiny, expired empires arranged on whims, sweet nonsense and the contraction of ideas; she said they always split – rent – down the stem, where each divide was high or torn a-shred. A venous mistress, she approached the human hustle not for reproduction, but the blooded marrow…
grave evening
grave evening one by one i read the names of everyone i’d ever known on the headstones wondered how it came to pass that i was left here alone in evening lay down beside them like a flower broken in storm turned soothingly to ash until the wind dusted me away. evening, 22 june…
Just Degrees
Everybody is fucked up! Just six degrees of separation Yoga Vegan diet Daily meditation- Wine Marijuana Giving in to temptation- Society is fucked up! Just two degrees of contemplation Black or white No shades of grey Nothing to come and go on- No rainbow children No cloud boys No faerie girls- Nobody is really fucked…