LATE DECEMBER BACK IN '63

the silhouette
of the tiny town
hitched itself

to a sunset
that slowly
deepened into night

the bruised day
becoming dark...darker
the clock ticking off time

they sat together
in her car later
the world standing still

so many kisses
more kisses
than stars

dawn finding them
asleep in each
other's arms

MEETING MY OWN GHOST

My Uncle's old blue van
our delighted childhood

transported from train to farm
creator of our Summer

holiday

as magical as anything
could have been

to our open
innocent minds

lies forgotten
& forgetting

behind the barn
rusting in rain

stung by sun
in summers come & gone

an orange rust
delicate as lace

chewing like cancer
into its solid blue body.

A chicken drives it now
perched upon its steering wheel

going nowhere
fast

clucking'' Get outta de way! '

Rotted rubber
still clinging to the wheels

like flesh
leaving bone

protected by gangs
of highly strung nettles

ravished by weeds
& overgrown trees

me & some newly laid eggs
jostled together in the passenger seat

a cockerel crowing
he has all the back seat

the windshield
flecked with years

of flattened flies
a multitude of squashed bugs

as we speed
into the past

meeting my own ghost
with tears in my eyes.

I THOUGHT BEEN A DALEK WAS A JOB FOR LIFE...

he was a Dalek fallen
on hard times he
got a job on the Underground announcing stations

his wife also
had seen better days
got a job as a talking clock

Mr. & Mrs. Dalek far from
extermination of others
desire for world *******

"THE NEXT STOP IS WATERLOO..."
"AT THE FINAL STROKE IT WILL BE
12 NOON EXACTLY!"

LOST IN THOUGHT

now  where
did I put myself
I was here just now

so many mes
all packed into one
"I am!"

now where was
that particular me
I was using at that moment

no....no...it's gone
ah well never mind
there's bound to be a new me

arriving at any moment
ahh here it is now
the newest me

ahhh just my luck
three at the same time
just like ****** buses

but better than
no me at all
as often happens

well here goes nothing
let's see if this new me
works or not

nooooo I thought not
ahh well back to
the drawing board

forever trying
to make up
my mind

THE LANGUAGE OF WATER

You wait by the lake
alone

except for your self
&
your reflected self

as if the landscape
dreamt you up.

Your thoughts a flock of birds
scattered across the failing light.

Clouds laugh
run along the ground
on tiny unseen feet.

Trees stand on their heads
wriggling their toes in the air

& you
become as two

both real & unreal

as if a living
dream.

You hum
Pachabel's Canon

as sun & horizon
listen.

Not bad for a human
they both agree.

It's as if
I need a key

to enter this magical
dimension

as if I have to
invent one

...a magical one.
I take a little stone

whisper to it the secrets
of flight

and teach it how to say: "Splash! "
in the language of water.

The little stone
transformed  with its new knowledge

does as it is told

shatters
this mirror world

opens
the dream

and I enter
bewitched

as any fairytale
Prince

my voice
calling your sweet name

with longing

you turn
& we embrace

kiss
& look upon ourselves

as the dream
remakes itself

stitching itself
together with silence.

An old artist
(unknown to us then)  

places us
the lovers

at the center
of his composition

adds this
final brushstroke

and pleased
with his efforts

folds up
his chair

packs up
his paints & easel

smiles at our
kisses

wishes
us a goodnight

and is gone
eaten by the twilight.

Our laughter
frail & fragile

lingering on the night air

playing peek-a-boo
with the moonlight.

THE STRING ON THE KITE


the wind
flowed
into the room


like an immense
invisible
river

pushing aside
the curtains
of stone


the world was
in flood
& I


felt like
a cow
stuck on a roof


my mind meandering
in a fever
me...mere human debris


caught on a bend
I lost
inside of me.


My sister's voice
calling
my name as if


I were a distant planet
that had yet to be
discovered


the shreds
of self
clinging to the love

in her voice
the string
on the kite


*


Had a big auld tooth wrenched from my mouth at a young age and it went to my head. My sister had been frying sausages and I awoke in deep fever and delirium and wafted by the smell I arrived at the top of the stairs and proceeded to fall down them with a clatter and a crash thinking I could walk on thin air or the magic carpet ride of the smell of the sausages. Amazingly I arrived at the bottom with nary a broken bone but a sore bottom and to be cradled by my sister's arms and the lovely song of her calling my name over and over so that I became entranced by my own name in the music of her voice. The world was melting and everything existed in slow motion and I was there and not there in the moment that was slipping away from me even as I lived it. All I had to hold on to was my big sister's love and to me it was the most beautiful beautiful thing in the world.

"EH WHITNEY...WE GOT A PROBLEM!"

Here, on
the boundaries of the mind

there was a tear
in the space/time

continuum thingy
coming apart at the seams.

The Universe was looking
a wee bit precarious.

But I'd been watching
Blue Peter for years

and fixed it with
some sticky-back plastic

and some Wrigley's
Spearmint chewing gum

and 500 bottle tops
I had saved up

in case of an emergency
such as this.

The Fairy Liquid Bottle
was still half full.

Undoubtedly questions
will be asked but

I think it will last
until God or the Great Whatever

gets its finger out
and fixes it.

Meanwhile here I am
holding the universe together.

Houston singing on the radio
"You'are all the man I need!"