Are the bees disappearing because they're so busy?
In the daily battle of everyday life
Missing in action:
busy bee
That's how you were lost to me
and I
I was lost at sea

Always things more important to do
than me and you
Always things more important to be
than with me
A house to hoover
precautions to take
tickets to book for the theatre


And lo, here we have come full circle
I have gone missing too

My children howl at the moon

I grant you
three overused words
can never do justice
to the way my heart depends
on the continued beating of yours

But why, **** you
could you not have gone hunting for rarer birds
taken a risk with words
Netted a guillemot. A tern, a crane
even a toucan
Written a second rate poem
if I can you can
Conjured forth that secure base
with a bedtime story
for your empress of penguins
your queen of hippopotamuses
your borrower girl

One day, even soon
that flock will have lifted
not to fly south, not to return
and there'll be no more lifting and swooping, no joy
in the swerve of a turn mid-air
no undertones, no attempts to colonise
no smiling eyes

I'll be standing alone under an empty sky
there'll be nothing to look at in wonder or borrow
or any asking why

Doing justice is what murmurations are for
how you've done them and more
You showed us the world and the joy of flying - and look
here I am trying to do it too
but three little starlings will do
A starling for each of your little darlings
Three overused words in a league of their own
I know it's beneath you but see I am
beneath you
I'm down here, just here, I'm no longer hiding
and red herrings are cheaper.

Red herrings are still only
two a'penny

On the fir-clad hill of my childhood
rocky outcrops grew where roses should
green with moss
lit by lichen

Solid ground tumbling steeply
Past the painted white shadows of a large wooden house
the silky feel of a best friend's hair
Past the shop now closed
where we bought milk and sweets
past the beer by the till with its ****** aroma
Past the station still quiet in dark before dawn
bundles of newspapers ready and waiting
Past the sharp fresh cold
then my soft warm bed
Past the lingering scent of soap and of newsprint
Past these sensuous delights

Past even the smoke of my first cigarette
how nauseating, how hard to inhale
how hard I still tried
for smoke rings

Past smooth warm stone gliding into the sea
phosphorescence glinting in silky depths

I still see the world from my cherry tree
a blue expanse of fjord and sky
my generous tree and I
its darkening buds kept their sweet scarlet promise

How steeply solid ground can tumble
barely stopping to catch the yellow leaves in fall
barely solid ground at all

You ask Am I lonely?
Not so.
But my waterlogged oars and my arms long for landfall,
for an old oak with a swing in its wing
rooted in rock and years,
for the sleeping quiet of snow-laden pines
anchored, tethered, still.

I accepted my charge with grace and resolve:
Uniting these distant shores.
I commandeered fleets, armadas even
of ships biscuits, canons and men
I made the journey again and again -
I travelled the earth for what it's worth
and repaid their investments a hundredfold
exchanging trinkets for gold.
But now I am almost old
and still I've not done as told
For a good anthropologist always goes native
The landmasses slip and slide
Setting foot on one shore makes the other recede,
widening the divide

So if I'm lonely it's only for want of a winch
explosives, groundwork,
iron

If I'm lost it's just the absence of feathers,
a flight of ideas, an arrow, a bow
a quill and the will
to use it​

If I'm surly it's purely for want of a fire
crackling with promise, a raging pyre
on which to cast
wet wood.

I know how it feels now
- Home

Hens pecking
sunlit earth
lazy shadows on familiar journeys
I know those hens
I know those walls
I know how slow Time can be
when shadows and light linger together
in smooth, warm stone

I know how Home feels before it is gone
before all this was undone
the ripping apart
the tearing asunder
the plunder
the going under
I know places where Home is not.

I know cold walls
unlit by shadow,
defiled by iron,
umbilical chains I cannot escape
the Others fading
the absence of hope
I know what it is to know they'll be shot
whilst I will be spared
because my body is young
and strong
I know what it is to be granted life
so as to work
for those I abhor, despise, detest
I know what it is to be breaking stones
to be breaking bones
for Them.
I know it can not be endured
I know.
And yet it is so.

Surprise me, you say
What next?

There is more.
I know what it is to be Not yet Done,
not even begun.

The strange misty calm of peace in a field
slowly descending as I know I lie dying
The ragged, fist-size hole in my chest
unexpectedly large (“where is my heart?”)
snagging,
stopping me
catching the wind
clutching my mind
bringing me back
I repel
I resist
I reject
I rebuff
I shall never be taken
I will never give in
I will not let go
I have not yet finished
I've not even begun
Rigor mortis is killing me, gripping me, stopping me breathing
I am suspended forever in my own dying clutches
Every fibre refusing to resign to Love
refusing to return to those above
My work is not done
not yet.

I shall never abandon what happened here
in this field and in all the others.
It shall not be forgotten
I shall never resign
I will not let this pass.

I know too the gentle roar of 'No More'
The rising tide, the tiger's wave
gathering pace, gathering force
lapping the feet of evil.
One by one they all dissolve
drawn down - drawn up - by the surging waters
There is only one wave
There is only one ocean
roll on wave
roll on
roll on

I know the tug of waterlogged oars
and a raft that outlived its purpose.
I know the place where hens peck the earth,
where shadow, sunshine and stone are as one
An alchemical blending of rage and peace
I know dancing columns of a thousand flies
a thousand miles high
lit up by the sun
I know how it feels
When it's done.

It's in your eyes again:
Fear
O Betrayal
You fear me.
I am too much.
Too strong, too deep, too wild for a child
For a feral child has to be wild
It's cold, there's a harsh wind blowing
and nothing to eat
but what you fight for.

Yes
This is what I am
what I had to become.
You made me.

Make no mistake: I'm proud
Domesticity no longer draws me
I know what to fight for and how.
So the look of fear in one who should hold me so dear
makes it all come true
I will annihilate you.
Die, you nobody, for you made this happen
Die, weakling
Die

I lost my land
a beautiful land it was
how the earth smells after rainfall
the ants in the forest

I lost my land
a beautiful land it was
trails of phosphoresence in the dark velvet sea
still bear the imprint of me

I lost my land
a beautiful land it was
I cannot name it
its sounds are too soft for here

I lost my land
I keep it in my head
in a place named secret
I keep it in the pockets of my heart
the left hand deepest part
I keep it in my eyeballs
always

I lost my land
a beautiful land it was
I was my land
my land was me

I lost my land - but then I found it
they kept it all this time in the lost and found
they kept in the borderlands
in cold town
they kept it with a view to both the old and the new
they kept it with such care

I lost my land - and then I found it
I found it down an avenue framed in autumn gold
amongst the hills of old
I found it safely homed
I found it on the landing
between two people
between two worlds