Every now and then in the chatter and witter
And text and blather and the well-turned well-meant phrase
Of wherefore and because and if-then-but,
And mind the gap and be careful not to litter -
That plot our safe prosaic paths of tidy, well-lit days,
Someone walks out from this swirl of words,

But is not of it.  
And looks at you.

And looks at you.

Space. Now.

Something touched and felt.  
Time also woken in your glance - time warm
And tangible,  but - so brought to life -
Is thus gliding like an emerald snake
Towards its rest and hollow:
Towards another darker now that is
Loss and lost and forever loss,
containing as it will - no you.


But for now the dark eyes of your spell
have driven time away.
And now is all we have and all we need.
Together we contemplate the candle of your silence.  
And its snuffing out in absence.

A third presence at our table, at the end.

I walked into the rain. And, turning from,
I watched the curving flight of a bird that
Noticed me the high trees in mist across the valley.

And now,
Birch log in hand I open the stove door.
A rush of radiance. Intense comfort.
Like someone's hands about your face,
Forcing eyes to meet in urgent reassurance

Of human warmth and purpose.

I scratched a living here and there
I don't know where.

And then I found a glade a space
A place

To be where thin sunlight was enough to live by.
Love by, maybe,
Sparingly.

As broken fingers moved to intertwine,

And all the days and nights were breathing
Threads of air.

But it was where

A note was sounded. Pure. Away.

So I might believe

That your haggard face in that regretful place

Was not all there was to see or say.

Come let us look together at our writing
And how it does caress the world to meaning and to be.  
A word is not just breath, or dark lines on the white:
It is an instrument of conjuring touch; a single feather maybe,
But think what they can do in numbers in the sky,
Or singly, with a smile, when a face is turned away.

So it is with these. And more than that - these ghostly fingers
Take hold to lift together stories by the million;
Shape, lay waste, and seed, and seed again.

To grow stone lintels on a prehistoric plain.
Spell bridges, roads and dwellings  - all the necessary noise of life.

And then bring it back to this small line and time.
That points to what may be.

No need to read the information leaflet
Carefully before treatment can begin.
Do not use as directed if that does not
Work for you.  May be taken ****** or aurally
Or applied to any sensitive area of skin.


If side effects occur, do it even more.
These may include: mid line or end point
Rhymes, a sense of quiet elation as a rhythm
Builds.   Thrills are quite common too when
A soaring, singing line comes flying on the wind quite suddenly


From what was empty sky.  You will know
Then that the Muse is On The Wing and must take
In ever larger doses by breathing deeply of your world -
Feeling the bubbling alchemy of heart and pen..


At which point - as you'll see


It is acceptable - even recommended! - to shout a bit
And bounce around the kitchen spilling tea.

The word Lyrical. Let us dwell upon it

For a moment.

It is of skies and waters and green leaves

Of descant harmonies and slim fingers

Splayed upon a page.



Of the clean air in the morning,

Just after dawn -

A slow incantation of

A poem whispered

to only one.


Of being very still to watch a bird

Alight, but then seem to stay for fleeting ecstasy

Of sun on feathers -

Before it flies.  


It is of Untouched time - and this

Little flight of words released


For you.

A blast of playful air that hits me with a whoop.
Enthralling, charismatic weather  - in your face!

A gutsy wind that spices up the day, twisting,
Teasing leaves to mass hysteria by the rush,

The flourish of a superhero cape then instantly away
To riff across the valley trailing shards of rain

Climbing for a mile to trees seen against a roaring sky
Then arcing back with shock wave force of

Spatterings that sting but wake me to
A pitch of seeing, cascading words around me,
Of a world now sharp and new - edged,

With delight.



Almost too much to write.