LONG NIGHT MOON

Winter tightens
its grip on the landscape

fastens the long night's cloak
about itself.

A moon hung
above an horizon

for the longest time.

The sun hangs its head
in shame.

I call your name.

Your name
like a spirit

that my breath
conjures up

nailed to the night
with stars

each precious sound
written in frost.

The world turns
and you

are not on it

I dare to speak
your absence.

Grief tightens
its grip.

I fling your name
like a stone

at a careless universe
that is not listening.

Death even further
beyond belief

than a small boy
can even begin

to...imagine.

'SO....THE DAYS HAVE WORN AWAY...HAVE THEY?"

Mrs. Havisham
ran from her dream

and into the arms
of her husband.

She was trembling
like a dying bird

held in the hand
tears falling on it.

"Dearest...dearest!"

Mr. Havisham tried to
cajoled her back to

some kind of
reality.

"Oh, Mr. Havisham sir..!"
she palpitated

"I drempt I was on fire
and my world

was all cobwebs and dust
cobwebs and dust!"

"And, that...I was never
married and that I was

but a character in a book
by that Mr. Dickens!"

"Shhhhh...shhhhhh!" her husband
shushed her

and she slept in his embrace
as real as real.

A ray of sunshine
entered their room

bowing before them

announcing in a loud morning voice

"Your world....
....awaits you!"

WATCHING TV WITH DAD

He is cradling baby
in his arms.

We like iron filings
cling to his Dad-ness.

Sisters and brothers
cuddle into every side

of him
available.

Two more siblings
clutch a leg each

unwilling to
let go

this prize position.

I am curled on the back
of the sofa

about his neck
like a human scarf.

We are laughing at
MR. ED - THE TALKING HORSE.

"... a horse is a horse,  of course, of course. . ."
we all chant in unison.

Or sing the theme to
GREEN ACRES.

Doesn't matter what we
watch as long as  we

can be
part of him.

"...our dad is our dad, of course
of course..!"

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.

TAKING BACK THE MOMENT

the past sleeps
like a giant in a palace
made of years

a moment...thought
lost for ever
sunbeams trapped in a room

they flick and dart
all over the ceiling
goldfish in a goldfish bowl

memory dares
to waken the sleeping giant
demanding the sunbeams being goldfish

from somewhere in the palace
made of years and tears
the Past produces the moment

"Here...take it!" the Past rasps
begrudgingly giving it back
I take the moment and flee

far far
into the future
where nothing can touch me

IF WE SHADOWS....

It was as if
a cloud had fallen asleep

in the lower field.

It had already eaten
an unhitched wagon

and half a red barn.

It watched us approaching
from the yellow windowed house

where the babies lay asleep
blowing spit bubbles.

It seemed to smile in a
giant grey candy floss way and then

started in on
first you and then

me or what
was left of me that I could see.

It had eaten all of you
except your excited voice.

All you could see of me
was my nervous laughter.

We had been evicted from
our known selves

and there was no known
forwarding address.

We were all points of
the compass at once.

“Moo!” commented a cow
on the situation at hand.

And “Moo” mimicked the cloud
having had

eaten everything.

There was no place to live
except inside our thoughts

and our thoughts
walked our bodies

towards the barn that
like Mr. Schrödinger's cat

was either there or
either not.

“Moo!” said a moo.
“Moo!” said another moo.

One moo almost the clone
of the other.

We had arrived.
We were now here.

Suddenly our arms legs and other
bits of our bodies was

returned to us
thanks to a light switch

that made us in our own
image.

We owned ourselves again.

The cloud was sleeping
in the field.

One could almost imagine it
snoring.

I clapped my hands together.
“Ok!” I said

“…let’s get on with
the milking!"

THE LONG HELLO

I left my memory
in a run-down hotel

all damp patches
& peeling plaster.

Who am I?
Wish I knew!

Maybe I'm a salesman
traveling in lady's underwear.

Naw...that don't seem right!

I looked into the blur
that formed & unformed

before me
constructing in my mind's eye

a Hollywood smile
that's all stage set

nothing behind it
but...

fakily real.

She had an Art Deco heart
she wore on her sleeve

bit frayed
'round the edges.

and a laugh that lingered
like perfume.

'Hi, Petal! '
her lopsided grin

was all femme
fatale.

She spoke
in Film Noir.

I knew
the lingo.

'Remember me? '
she sighed softly

as if caressing herself
remembering me caressing her.

I sure wish I remembered it
in intimate detail.

I'm a stickler for detail.

This broad
was slim

but with curves
in all the right places

; ; ; if ya get my drift.

Her laugh was all
lightness and lavender.

'Good...good! '
she cooed.

'I see your ******* is at least
listening! '

I involuntary
covered my crotch

with both hands
as if I was naked.

I wish she was.

Her curves flowed
like very runny honey

over the back of a spoon
trickling on to the tip

of a tongue.

She was strictly
yum as in YUM!

Then she went
all Cubist on me

as if she'd been badly drawn
by that Picasso artist.

I felt like a 2-D
drawing

as she approached me
in 3-D.

My conscience found
its voice

(down behind
the back of the couch)

It wheezed and wheedled
like it was Peter Lore.

'Ouch! ' I ouched.

'Ok...ok! '
I announced in a too loud voice

'I believe I know...
....who done it! '

'It was...' I stammered.
'It was...' I stuttered.

'Cut it...Cutes! '
she snapped like knicker elastic.

'I guess we both know the score.'

She somehow contrived
allowed her dress to fall

to the floor
where it pooled at her feet

like a green silk
puddle.

'Hey has anybody told you
you look just like *** a chelli's

Birth(I burp) of Venus! '

'Cut the wise cracks Jack...
it was the drink

...done it! '

'You just had one bottle of Baileys
too many! '

'But now...it's finished...ya hear
...finshed! '

She threw the bottle
over her naked shoulder.

I listened to her
in glorious Technicolour hangover.

She poured her body
all around me

like jelly
in a mold.

'Hung over sure...but
I think I got the cure! '

Her kiss was like
the last page

of a **** good Who
...dun it!

finally falling
falling

falling
into place.

I kissed her
lovely face.