Like Water

Whatever they were intended to be
they landed just right.Tumbling dice,
facets both sharp and ethereal, in a
shared moment of recognition which
brought out the best of the bad times.

We were both the smoke and the light
while it lasted, and we could forget our
same and sorry days of hard emotions,
when hope was diluted by best interests,
to let words flow effortlessly. Like water.


Tony Noon

I remember him telling me
how, as the waters fell back,
he marked the level to show
us what had been reclaimed.

Beneath this unremitting sun
it is hard for me to take it in.
Such an abundance of water.
Up there.Way above my head.


Tony Noon

We are long running who come
here each day to compare lives.
This repetition of small events

plots our journeys, and whilst
trends might be extrapolated,
we must draw conclusions from

our own understanding of facts.
We can say why there is no sun
today but with people maybe

we can never know where they go.


Tony Noon

Wherever we are in this odd alphabet,
I am the only one to start out with you.
Long past A, it seems we must begin

again here so often. An unpicked tapestry
which I worry will be misinterpreted without
my shuttle to connect events and places.

I think,without my observations, you are
a complex and moveable feast. New faces
each day as light and weather changes.


Tony Noon

Where this water meanders,
abundant life always fought
itself to found and dominate.

Blinking eyes cannot count
kings or name them as time
tears up each castle lease.

As they fall the worldly wise
will tell you that they knew.
White elephants do not thrive.

But water surging still and light
has let them change, and learn
to hide themselves in plain sight.


Tony Noon

Television parties are where
they are at. Their unnamed
melodies attract costumed
fun lovers but no demands.

The hours are unspecified.
Non-stop dance still draws
complaints from downstairs
but knowing smiles remind us

that this noise has no meaning.


Tony Noon

There is another hole in the old town.

When it rains it will hold water like cold
craters on the moon.Devoid of life now,
each drop will hold the history of years.
Every drop will reflect on scrubbed steps
and drunken Fridays and days off in bed.  

The wind will whistle hit parades over mud.
Grass will pretend it was always here and
cold kids on new bikes never turned out at
Christmas or in new clothes come Whitsun.
Plaques will not record the living or the dead.

There is another hole in the old town.
Shaped like a worn shoe. Hard to fill.


Tony Noon