POEMS
May 2010, poems on this page:CAKE, AND IN THE NIGHT, TREE, CARNIVAL, VICTORY, BLAST, ODIN, 2007, MAY 18, WITHOUT. ADRIFT, STATION WITHOUT PLATFORM ONLY GAP.CAKE
If I disappear into the morning
do not spend a second wondering
where I am.
Rather feel the sun on your skin
and perhaps make a cake.
There are so many things, a great horde of them,
that come between us and our lives,
but a flick of a finger can dismiss them
and you can get on with what is important.
You will know what to do.
AND IN THE NIGHT
and in the night - y en la noche
all the world was there,- todo el mundo estaba allí
waiting, not waiting, - el esperar, no esperando
in the darkness, of the darkness - en la oscuridad, de la oscuridad
huge irregular ships - naves irregulares enormes
full of people - por completo de la gente
overlap - el traslapo
and every suface of skin listens - y cada suface de la piel escucha
TREE
tree likes a good story, the more fantastic the better,
tree likes you knowing that tree is here, somewhere,
working away mysteriously
in a quiet rooom where the sun is,
tree cannot worry,
tree cannot be jealous,
there is not room for it,
tree is filled with the wild and sweet honey of this moment.
CARNIVAL
its not my carnival
i know you are out there, i can hear you,
but it is so sweet to lie here
and watch the light change
on the clouds,
there are so many of you,
thousands,
i saw some of you walking into town this morning,
go! dance! laugh til the heavens swirl!
i will stay here and take care of the sky,
my carnival takes place everyday.
VICTORY
it is always here that we are lost
we are so big now
mountains are our playthings,
no longer the quiet homes
for meditive types,
but places to roar across the sky to
and beat into submission
with our gear in superhero colours,
a different kind of victory awaits us:
what is it to have nothing at the foot of the mountain?
in the end we will want to know.
BLAST
In this storm huge bears have smashed all the lights,
And sent the glass shattering over the land:
It disintergrates into trees and rocks and faces
That turn into the blast.
ODIN
Sleeping under the mountain for the winter,
a small picture of friends around a table
stuck above the sink,
A mile of earth above,
in front of us spring,
inside sweet,
song below.
2007
In the beginning there was you.
the rain came and you were wet.
There were stars after the clouds went and a chair. It was in the field with the sheep as they slept.
You were in the chair.
The stars were below you.
You thought that you might stay there until it became light, or when you had the strength to get up.
From the road you could see someone was sitting in the feild.
MAY 18
a new moon,
with a star badge,
sits on the houses and says "here i am
all new."
a party happens on the grass
of the newly opened airport,
open not for airoplanes
but for wheeled humanoids to glide, skim and surf,
three or four abreast.
the party is so far away it is as silent as the moon
what can i breath? what can i feel? Can i feel the dead in the ground?
Is that the heaviness in my limbs, just here,
just under the trees,
near the red wall and the red church
hidden from the road by the white mosque.
Whose insignificance petered out here?
They shoot at people in Bangkok.
What kind of strength is that? What is this useless horror?
These are people.
A man walks on to the grasslands reserved for the birds.
He walks slowly, his hood is up. I watch him go further into their territory,
I say nothing,
the skylark alarm goes up up up,
figthing for the life of his children,
with song.
A new moon with a star badge,
voiceless on the horizon,
voiceless as pigs, desentors, songbirds
and the already dead.
WITHOUT
We are part of an endless conversation between the earth and the sky,
exclaimation marks and small words in sentences, paragraphs of stars.
Tripped up over apostrophes, asterix, half moons and turned-tailed,
you were upstairs reading backwards, on your cold wall spine,
convinced you were onto something, the trail of souls, intimacies and uncrewed ships,
they batter your conviction, giving you a halo, bombed out, burnt and still living.
Clouds, twigs, a line of debris left by the tide,
translated into news reviews and comment,
that rise above the horizon briefly,
then melt back into bursts of starlings
and the patterns of cigarette butts
outside enormous blocks of glass.
i am, i am not, i am , i am, i am not, i am not, i am not, i am
peeled by time.
I am animal, without soul and its complaints,
without drama.
ADRIFT.
Outside the wind harmonizes
with the cars on the far road.
Alone
it sings under all things,
since the very first
when its mouth unruly took
the first kiss.
Now it germinates thoughts
and amuses babies,
terrifies, consoles and batters
ships, faces and houses.
It is the noise of thinking, hilltops and open spaces.
I count it as an anchor
into the world.
STATION WITHOUT PLATFORM,ONLY GAP
there in the meadow,
where the dead walk,
all the flowers have gathered;
incomprehensibe animals survive there,
without clothes or phones,
lifeforce pumping behind bright eyes.
They barely blink at the motorway,
it's all bark carved into the wilderness:
an emptiness river.
With all the pent up dynamism of slow motion pumas
abandoned earth movers rust in mid move,
nettles nod in the cabins,
steering blindly,
into the bank:
unprogessing.
Untheoretical beings flourish and bumb into each other,
grinning tightly as they pass along the dashboard
into infinity.
(Unnoticed,
blood gathers on the lips
of the girl opposite,
the train finally manifests its timetable,
me there too
studying the sliding land for clues of otherness).