I will travel fast
Between the constellations
Behind the weighted curtain of space
The gape of heaven
With all its nebulous glory
Will be but a pin ***** to me
From where I will sit
Watchful amongst the stars
On folded wings of time
Warmed by the fire of a thousand suns
A million years of dreams
Entombed in amber
A silent curl of smoke
Over morning water
Drifting with ease
Sometimes in mind
Ever at peace
The fading chime of a bell
Forever sustained
Is how I wish to be

Gold-dipped spires in pastel light
Betray the coming of the night
And the purple skirted summer sky
That harbours high society -
Crescents of wealth, alive with songs
The echoing of dinner gongs
And tenants stumbling through the dawn
From cypress-clad Olympus.

The Georgian rooftops, copper-capped
Once kept their vices tightly wrapped
Now attics shelter sharpened tongues
And whispers in the night.
The nooses tied in gilded rope
Foretell the total loss of hope
Of those who watched their dreams elope
From cypress-clad Olympus.

The faded queens and men of rank
Who filled the world with wine they drank
Now tumble to the river bank
From crumbling castle walls.
The terraced pavements' privileged throng
United in their ***** song
Repeat the lyric 'what went wrong?'
On cypress-clad Olympus.

We are comets
Engaged in a widening reel
On the edge of the night
Cheered on by the envious stars
Pin ****** in the curtain of space
Bright buoys anchored firmly in place
By the ice of a vast frozen ocean

We are ribbons
Cut loose in the cantering wind
Thrown high into flight
Untied and unbridled at speed
Set free by the fingers that bound us
At war with the force that compels
us
To cling to the surface of Earth

We are seconds
Ticked off by the fingers of time
In front then behind
A domino rally of ones
As each fades another becomes
The edge of the present ablaze
Snuffed out by the tide of the past

We are fossils
Found deep in the folds of the Earth
Dull nuggets displayed
On rockfaces rippled with age
The cold sedimentary stone
Encasing our traces of bone
And the echoes of all we once were

The low lying sun streams its light
Through the buckled diamonds
Of a window warped by time
It shines upon the fractured spines
Of a hundred idle books
And swirling columns of dust
Ever there, yet rarely seen
Invisible beyond the Sun's fire-fingered touch
Graceful flakes of gold on fire
Gliding silently but sure
Ten thousand feathers in a vacuum
Steadily piloted down
Through an atmosphere of learning
Settling in layers of ash and skin
The drifting snow of time
On table tops and empty chairs
Where you and I sat in our prime
Pretending not to see
Out of the corners of our eyes

I was not born a soldier
But I may be one yet
For the fruits of sacrifice
To long remain, lest we forget

The smith that forged my frame at birth
Concealed a sword inside
In muscle, love and sinew bound
Its dormant instinct to divide

We stand as sworn blood-brothers
Bound to all men of the moor
The night's reluctant sentinels
With shared distaste for war

Brigades of sleeping infantry
We guard horizon's light
Until the songs of birds and bells
Asphyxiate the night

The front line of the morning
Lies along dawn's creeping thaw
Where shadows stretch to breaking point
Like corpses strewn across the floor

The last remaining corners
Of the night flushed into day
Chased down by spears of rising sun
Filed sharp to keep the dark at bay

And by the time night's throes have stilled
Bright morning streaks the sky
The vapour trails of tracer planes
Like silver needles dangling high
From the ancient beams of our beloved proud cathedral’s ceiling

Silhouetted, we stood in silence
Beneath skies mother of pearl.
We dreamt we saw you coming,
Thought we heard your wings unfurl.
We dived and tried to find you
But we did not succeed.
Then you rolled into life, iridescent and pure
And burst from a porcelain seed.

I miss your cathedral kiss on the green
Your sweet smiling face in the rain
The seasons change, your light remains
Outlasting summer's ghosts

Sometimes I mine for echoes
Ghosts of sounds within me still
Cicadas and the clash of boules
Soft voices from the hill

Two young boys tongue-tied in the sun
Barefoot on summer's shore
Soft feet licked clean by freedom's whim
With oceans to explore

My mother nurtured flowers
Drowning shadows out with paint
The brightness of geraniums
The patience of a saint

My father cut the grass too much
And ran to clear his mind
Until the echoes of the Angelus
Beseeched him to unwind

My brother lined his time with books
He tore through Willard Price
And towed me just behind him
Through the fronds of paradise

Marauding hornets launched their raids
From castles in the attic
While Stanley mined for longwave gold
From seams deep in the static

And all the while
My granny kept her patience in the shade
Her deck of cards adorned with birds
Their feathers slightly frayed

The swallows scythed through open skies
Back home where they belonged
And like Narcissus, swooped from height
To kiss the surface of the pond

The wasps built paper palaces
The geckos froze on sight
And midwife toads woke from their doze
To tune up for the night

As daytime took its leave
We sought out satellites and stars
Then lay in quiet contemplation
Watching Venus waltz with Mars

I remember cowboys’ breakfasts
With my father by the lake
Freewheeling with the moon roof open
For freewheeling's sake

We wore our bike tyres paper thin
Climbed castle walls unseen
Dived into lakes to race for ducks
And ruled the world at just thirteen

We fashioned bows and arrows
From the saplings in the wood
Sprung ambushes from chestnut shade
And fell dead where we stood

We roamed the dust-filled houses
On the back streets off the square
An ageless band of soldiers
Feigning death without a care

We raced around the wood yard
Sometimes scuffled in the dust
We traded glances with the neighbours' girls
And felt the nascent tug of lust

We sought out mischief in the hills
Stole naughtily from shelves
Smoked roll-ups in a Dutch girl's car
Unclipped our wings and helped ourselves

I started with an early climb
Left morning's waking yawn behind
And high above a sleeping street
As Tuesday's heart began to beat
The morning broke clean open
And I saw the sky torn wide

The brittle ceiling of the Earth
Recalled an oyster shell at first
The pearl horizon, silver pink,
Entranced me as I stooped to drink
The splendour of the morning down
With all its healing peace

I let the first light warm me through
And shared the incandescent view
With others perched in eyries
All along the city's edge
We watched the rolling world unfurl
And offered silent thanks
While far below the tangled flow of commerce burst its banks

The day you died I ate a lime
And pondered how it shared its time
On Earth, beneath the Sun with you.

The light drawn deep through pitted skin
To feed the precious pips within
And swell the flesh, so sharp and fresh,
Sweet goodness, given life.

And now you're gone and numbness lies around us like a blanket
Grey wool absorbing every short, sharp gasp that greets the news.

And as your embers start to fade
The clustered citrus suns displayed
In fruit bowls where your children played
Lie desiccate and drawn

The day you died, I ate a lime
And pondered how it shared its time
On Earth, beneath the Sun with you

And as I scored its skin with steel,
And turned it in my hands to peel,
Its juice fell all around my feet
Like blood onto a Yorkshire street.

The sharpened stone of summer steps,
Hewn from the Tuscan crust,
Lies cool in terracotta shade
And wind-fetched, thin saharan dust.

Soft footsteps on a flagstone floor,
A sweep of homesewn skirt,
Cool churches where our shadows died
And freed our dreams to dance and flirt.

We yearn for birdsong, peace and sleep
For leather, wood and wine -
A life where rosebuds mark our path,
Lived in a straight unwavering line.

Where sunset copperplates the sea
With flecks of gold and Verdigris
And down below, the ghosts of ships do battle in the bay
Where in the morning, rising scents of sea salt and of sage
Drift up the hill on gifted wings to greet the kids that come of age
On dry stone walls in olive groves
Beneath the strident sun

Sharp shadows cast by old scrub oaks
Where once young shepherds flung their cloaks
Resist the timeless tug of war of brash Etesian winds
Where goats' bells bounce off whitewashed walls, with each staccato leap
And black-wrapped widows spin their webs to catch what precious dream-filled sleep
They might ‘neath watch of leaning, still
Centurions of stone

To soothe the white heat of the sun
We dived and left our limbs undone
In ocean coolness, born again - and flushed, we struck for shore
With towels held high above our heads
we tiptoed onto land
And broke from canvas rare delights to share upon the sand
The day we lunched on Ithaca
Two thousand orbits turned

Content, we hung in listless sleep
As painted ladies traced our shape
Until the lure of barefoot expeditions brought me round
I picked my steps with casual ease through shade of salt-dried driftwood trees
And swore I’d found the very glade where hung the Golden Fleece
I turned to share my thrill with you
But chose instead to spare your peace

Soon after came the faithful sound
Of bells that haul the Earth around
Each chime remarking loud and clear its moment’s fading grace
And deep within you as you slept, inaudible at first,
The beating of a second drum began to be rehearsed
The day we lunched on Ithaca
Life’s liquor quenched our thirst