September heat to melt the
sealing wax, closing off summer
as grasses, golden as they die
still whisper with insect thought

the trees reply in kind
though the greying of their temples
can’t be hidden
reminding of the irresistible slide
to winter’s wide silences

Commute recommenced,
the verges rekindled their
annual morning conversations,
heard twenty times

As my muscle memory drove,
I sought the last red comments
of poppy heads cheering,
but the long, dry grasses
sounded familiar tired whispers
that threatened to drown

I could allow them to dictate the script
of another season,
clichés so often spoken
as to be silence

but I can still hear
the poppy red
I hear the poppy red

I know the autumn is waiting,
pensive to embrace the loss of heat,
sweats moving on to other climes
where they’re understood

I hold til the skeleton of winter
can be seen and read
by my fingers on the sorry bones
that please me, alone

maybe the point of arriving is finding one who´s just as lost

@First Movement

Flash blue, breezes and gentle touches where he is her favourite dancer.
Twitchy tickly itchy movement, likewise violin trembled string
Autumn arrives with butterfly wings. He is a dancer. Fainted @

Noon sun ray. He says “Hi… Give me a Five”
Shine or silver, day to day. It all turns to grey.

@Second Movement

Life in a day where there are knots in every skein. The moment of whispering
And the surprise gifts of the Year. Look. Rains and showers flushed into her skirt.
Autumn lands with a giant painting brush. She is a painter. Arrayed in

Gold and red, twirling canvas panels with leaves upon her ankles.
Their intense autumnal melancholy embittered

@Third Movement

life wonders’ bedroom window. Of oscillating thread
that winds between the living and the living we thought were dead.

Autumn falls with hymn choral from spider’s web. He and she reunions
Soul to soul, pole to pole with blesses with increase and life,
They are gross and simple creatures, jointly servant of the Will.

Make a wish, and then its gone
A curl of smoke now a spent dry wick
Happiness held for a moment

Then the sickly spittled cake
For the birthday boy, mum loads him up
And jealous friends crowd round
Skirting round the edges,
Dad takes a snap at mum’s request
Happiness held for a moment

Further out, against the wall
Elderly relatives watch it all
In prickly jumpers, sovereign chains
Fisherman’s friends and pocket change
Slow and still, they watch it all

I unpack the plastic crap my parents bought
Parents doing all they ought to get me hooked
That plastic smell like sniffing glue
The cheap thrill of something new
Happiness held for a moment

Party bags at the door and then its over
Thanks are forced from mouths
By parents with an eye on the morning
Outside the orange October light is fading
On streets the lamps are lighting
And  the hush of school tomorrow hangs there
Among conkers and chimney smoke

Back inside my home the smell of boys
hangs in the air; a fug trapped
in deep pile and double glazing
The telly’s on now and **** are burning in the ashtray
Now they’re asleep, and its over

I sit surrounded in my room at the back of the house
The orange light is coming in through thin curtains
I can’t move for presents yet I feel I am imploding
Like a crinkled balloon, expelled of everything
Feeling everything and nothing
Happiness held for a moment

August 2021

Autumn is kissing the swamp maples
and God it feels like foreplay
The air is hinting at the frost to come
and it dances on my tongue
and crawls down my throat
The breeze grips me
like fingernails down my spine
My toes curl and my breath fogs
as I drink down the taste

Possessing a lover can be a feeling so addictive
and I've never know a lust like this