the arching arboretum anticipates my alliterations
telling too timeless tales of Latin language
binomial botany begins by being barbarously bleak
dioecious dogwoods dance doing dainty droops
leaves lie lamely, larking like sweet starlight shine.

I

Walking à trois on Crosby Sands
He left us talking two to the dozen
and went for paddle
in Wellington boots.
The tide was coming in,
and before we could say,
‘hey, you’ll get wet’,
he’d removed all his clothes
(and the Wellington boots)
and stood buff naked
in the incoming sea.

The water swirled about his legs
caressed the hairs, the golden hairs
that still stood on his still trim calves,
his freckled thighs, and all the way up
to his bottom.

I felt I knew his bottom well,
and well enough to have placed
my hand between its cheeks.
But for Gloria . . .
If she was embarrassed
I’d never have known.
I suppose she’s seen rather
more male bottoms than me.

‘He’s just larking’,
she said, and laughed.
But as the tide came in
he was too far out . . .
to be larking.


II

A Water Polo team
5 Aside
winter training
in the autumn cold
good for the muscle tone

Malcolm threw the ball too far
it’s just a dot in the distance now
floating out to the shipping lane
past the windmills down the Welsh coast
next stop the Irish Sea


III

Oh the seductive tide
rolling across the shallow beach
hiding the creased and puckered sand.

Shadows and reflective light
flowed about him,
a mesmeric display of lateral forms,

as his reflection shimmered black
on the grey, brown, grey-white water.
He’d shaved his head

as if in benediction for the sea’s coming kiss
that would surely embrace him, take him
naked into its cold, cold clasp.


IV

Sketchbook in hand
she willed this standing ****
back into her imagination.

So long ago now
on that distant shore
in the opposite hemisphere,
by a blue blue sea,
And so very aroused
by the thought of that stony
wet nakedness beside her,
let her hand tremble
on the ****** page

as she saw his fingers
stretch out and touch
the incoming tide.

V

I watched him
time and again, time and forever,
too far out for me to touch.

His bold shoulders,
his well-muscled back,
from dawn to dusk
he was ever before me,

letting the water lap and kiss,
fold and flow between his legs;
up, up then over his hips:
to cover his spine, to stroke his neck.

I had to imagine his face of course,
being turned away from my outward gaze.
So I sent him my eyes, my ears,
my nose, my mouth and then
a cry from my heart:
‘I love you so, I love you so.’

Remember me in spring when blossom's blush
and petals flair a - light in morning mists
that'll haze a rainbow hue - of flowered plush
to portrait mine as every bud untwists.

Upon the birding bath as robins splay
the warbling chirp shall voice as tho' from me
for you my sweet, in springtime bloom of may
shall hear the larking flute of my decree.

The dancing leaves shall tap and Ivy's birth
and Snowdrop's bow as daisy eyes unveils
as fragrant, olive air shall scent of mirth
that once were lost, now shrines as spring prevails.

Vernal rebloom shall stream that pulse of mine
then seek that earthly glow, and there I'll shine.

She will tame me, she cant blame me, when I put a smile upon her face.
He will paw me, he will claw me, but there's still an empty space.
Slow haunting whispers, I can feel her on my ear.
His breath, his warmth, the ever growing fear.

...Like a simpson, I change colour
The ink seeps on to the floor.

Do I stay and feel heart ache?
Or open that cage door?

He comes closer, puts his head against my heart,
A gentle pur, a silent thump, a misfit in the dark.
I reach out, then pull back, scared of his loathsome bite,
Not for lust, or need, or want, but an unworded fight.

It grows within me, like the locks on his mane,
Entwining round, engulfing me; is this what you call sane?
He bares his teeth, but not in anger, a gentle, sweet, supression,
Our eyes will lock, a growl will pass...

A fiery-tempered tension


-----------

Credit to Sarah Larking, who wrote this with me.

I am a Demon
I am not an inner Demon
I cut you in ways no one can see
I live in the dark, banished

I am your Demon
Once your knight, now fallen
I fight for you if called, But feared for what I will do
I can not help my blade

My sword pointed at your heart
I silently scream as it cuts in you you
I wear these chains
I wear this broken crown

Your Demon
Your forgotten
Larking quietly waiting to be called
Wishing I could be alive again

I fell for you
I am here
In spirit
In death

I watch over you
Hiding my face and form
Knowing it hurts
I don't want you to die

Keep fighting my Queen
Pick up my sword and shield
Pick up your self
And never forget how special you are

winter has crept from it's cathedral with it's blue loom of white sod
against black crows and over-coats. we awaken in our separate pause
and modify our crumpets with thin icing,
drizzled over moon faced scones -
as golden as your marmoset of port wine
and wrinkled wheels of cheese...
at a moment's notice.
you float through the open window where crescendo the crisp winds and the bacon fats
rendering in the musk of firewood, oaking the nose of the decanted day
the early hearth of heaven, now powder blushed and rustle thrum
with skylarks larking in the luminous icebox
of barely sunrise.
your eyes sparkle and my antlers score the aspen bark
on a lost acre of our thickening plot.

we love a lot.

Shimmering Sea

Sitting at my cluttered desk
I’ve just attacked a rabbit
with a knife. Don’t fret,
it was an Easter gift,
a golden bunny bebowed
and belled, the chocolate
incised and brought to light,
rich and dark so keenly
comforting aside the coffee
beaned from Nepal.

Her gift so lovingly given
I bless her ever-thoughtfulness,
and turn my thoughts
to see her walking by the sea,
on the cliff path
by the shimmering,
glimmering sea, always
at her right hand, blue,
an April blueness
barely a footstep from
a vertical drop through
the light-filled air . . .


Heady Scents

Fox, she would say,
without so much as
a sudden sniff,
and carry on her way
alert to all and everything.
And I would wonder,
Fox? But I had not been
schooled to recognize
a creature’s scent,
though sensitive always
to the human kind:
that sweetness after ***
found in Cupid’s gym.
So the subtle coconut
of bright-flowering gorse
and garlic woodland-wild
when trodden under foot.
will have to do instead.


Brimstone and Blues

Well, the sea is blue today,
why not the butterflies too?
though seen, it seemed
for a second,
fluttering at her feet,
tumbling indecisively
in flickering flight,
then gone: to leave
a stain of perfect blue
upon the retinal cells.


Peacocks (not butterflies)

I thought it was a peacock’s cry,
but it turned to be a turkey
out in the orchard next
our path to the sea.

Such an unpleasant-looking
bird whose tatty hind-feathers
rose as its blood-red throat
trembled with venomous
indignation at our presence.

Sad creature,
so ugly,
a troubling form
lacking grace or line,
majesty or wonder,
colour or display
of the pave cristasus.


Skylarks

Larking skywards
in the soft spring
vertiginous blueness
of the daylight heavens,
on song with circular breath,
seaward and away.
We only saw it descend
and heard the formants
change of its harmoniced
voice as it brushed
the standing crop,
finally fell,
and disappeared.


Swallows

Martins maybe?
Surely swifts?
But swallows?
Not yet awhile.

Some similar birds
fresh from flight
across southern seas
appeared, tumbled over,
shook the blue air,
then disappeared, as
suddenly greedy for grubs,
insectivously joyful,
so glad to be over land
once more.


Stonechats

I take your word for it
(having still to finish
the birding book you gave
at Christmas). Sounds right:
the sound of two stones
being rubbed together?
This robin-sized bird,
though dumpy in comparison,
who likes to sit on a gorse bush
and flick it wings; a nervous habit
some might say.


Blue on Blue

The sea in your eyes
is blue on blue
dear friend, dear lover
of my earthy self
whose eyes are browny-green,
whilst your’s own cloudless sky,
reflect the still shimmering sea.


A Ruined Castle

In a gap between
Purbeck Hills.
the Castle of Corfe
stands tall yet ruined.
Kaikhosru Sorabji
once lived in its sight,
composer, pianist, recluse.
Owning a cottage
he called The Eye,
with a Steinway Grand
and a cat called Jami  -
he wrote long complex music
people found difficult to play.
Eventually forbidding
all performances, he died
aged 96 - in 1988.
A curious man.


A Complete Castle

This must be an Italianate folly,
hardly ruined but complete.
We’d stopped for tea,
both hot and thirsty.
You’d hoped for ice cream
but had to wait for another day,
another place.

Had we not a train to catch,
and two miles still to walk,
we might have sat on its balcony
high above the shimmering sea,
and whilst eating ice cream,
looked on the sight of Lot’s Wife,
that white and final pillar of chalk
far out in Alum bay.


A Chapel

Profoundly square,
on a cliff-top high,
buttressed to its cardinal points
with a single window,
with a single door,
this chapel stands
where St Aldhelm
of Malmesbury,
would sing his sermons,
and, just for fun, some
hexametric enigmata
(riddles to you and me)

From his weaver’s riddle, Lorica:

non sum setigero
lanarum uellere facto
Nec radiis carpor duro
nec pectine pulsor

I am not made from
the rasping fleece of wool,
no leashes pull [me] nor
garrulous threads reverberate . . .


A Lighthouse

Brilliant white
and thoroughly walled about,
squat and unmanned,
it sits begging for
a crashing wave,
a serious storm,
but not today.
The sea is still,
calm and gently lapping
against the rocks below.


A Steam Train**

At Swanage station
just in time,
and amply satisfied
by our twelve-mile walk,
we settled ourselves
on bench-like seats
in the carriage
next the engine as
56XX Tank No.6695
took on water,
built up steam
for the seven-mile ride
past Heston Halt,
past Harman’s Cross
to Castle Corfe.

A circuit made
in seven hours
by path and rail.

The sky was beautiful,
a million glimmers of light flickered while dancing with the dark sun,
time became invisible,
days, years and empty time has passed,
and I still am gazing up when the world puts on its cloak.
Mother died again so I ran to the galaxy,
it was red and sharp,
glimmering like treasure,
seducing me to take it.
Then father's cries came again,
and the moon stung my tongue,
with the bitter taste of water.
When the moon began to droop as if it were milk being poured in the soil,
I would scamper and crawl into the wound that frosted my mothers stomach,
and the night would begin to spin,
the stars sunk into my veins,
a needle,
that was rusted and long,
stitched beneath the thin walls,
larking in the torn bricks of a broken home.

His :

i make my travel
reseeding you
                my dear heart
                      into a compact unit of storage

i relieve from our nesting comfort
dismiss our established downey base of cooperation
                                   cleave from our snared compromise

instead to bed and thieve an unshared atmosphere
guilty joy followed by joyful normality
no stale thing

unravelling light
  lifted
(secure
  that I've a capsule world
  when i turn
  toward our lap again)

goodbye of you i am mended
made completely free
                    on the first turn of a corner


& Hers :

you leave me
      on your travels (you-were-my-travels)
you leave me susceptible
my heart alters to become
       a weak permeable tissue of easy tamper
       membership structure is dissolved
         returned to the vital spill
           welcome fluent contamination
               villainess and godless vibration
                  of the goddess confession

dress hooked up past my waist
i'll power-**** away my morality on day one
each day following shall be made easy
  ushered along in brutalities slip steam
                        and the prom of eddies

back in time i've been working on something..
       i'll call it The ****** List
criminal joys and tasks of double self daring
committed
     (not folded over
       or veloped in the knicker drawer)
           it operates as a basking lurk
                               tucked discreetly
                                 correct behind the eye
                      a charm feature of the unconscious
when released
   it's something melkish and larking with energy
   tacking harm to my activated mischief
      kinetic value and uncontrollable spur

in your absence
     i am permissionless
abyssless
i account for nothing

nooks of the apartment
the memory of us quickly forms a ***** coral
i've stopped washing to suit this mode
my body, a journal of stains and earned bruises
i holla and bay at mementoes of our brace
and then stop at the near point of the neighbours tolerance

time has crushed in on its own thesis
become gummy and tenseless
skipping about in haphazard spasms
  backstep, bow and reversal
     now
          observably organic in motion
           and proud of its many personalities

Oh, You're Back Again !
    no, it is your ghost
is it a spy ? ... i doubt you knew you even had it
it threads in and out of my company
seeming baffled and far from its comfort zone
did i put you there ?
i don't call you
the physical you
because you said 'no phones'
              and 'only in emergencies' (is-this-urgent ?)
Is This Urgent ?!
i restrict where i live in here
     keep the windows widowed and veiled
it makes for an unreal canvas
i'm weeding for a correction
sensual precarious highs
violate
in a spate
with this time alone
i'll make our home a vile space
a defication
and i can make no sense assessment of it any
i fight against digestion within these premises
i stay still long enough i am softened and palped
            by a dense atmosphere and salivations of contact
and outside..

the streets are exhausted
and i've quite the nasty reputation
violence, baiting and thievery
inebriation and toxic language
i shall soon be policed
no doubt i've lost my job
for now our place is a dare for vandals
             when i am an insensible heap
                 and perspiring over you in delirium
                    they devalue the exterior

unearthing
i'll find my creative sprite
that is good
i had missed it
now this is urgent (this-is-mine-was-always)
i take up a notebook and puke it full
i take sticks in my mitt and scrawl my charcoal visions
the blood visions
   the primal mud
  on all our walls

can i piece back our home by your return ?
can I sufficiently correct the blurring history I've smutted ?
do i care to ?
no more fading into 'partner'
lease is up
you'll not find me here destroyed
or waiting
    naked but an apron with my hands cupped and mouth open
i'll have ravelled myself up tight
- having stoked my inhuman malady -
     i'll mate my own travels

                                                        ­             - aborted

Halloween.
Where the Queen of the imps, pimps her minions and daemons fly
where the good man asks why
and the bad ones don't care,
Halloween
is in the air.

Lock your window,bolt the door,keep the cat in,
dogs are for barking when goblins are larking about,
hear a shout and cover your ears,
let your fingers hide the fears,
hold your heart in,
don't take part in
Halloween.

The Pope pipes out hope in St Peters Square
but Halloween is in the air,
where will you be
under the bed hiding with me?

A thousand unclimbed chimneys but the soot lay heavy on his half starved frame,
and the woman,a name he could not pronounce waited in the darkened street to pounce upon unwary boys and men,
and then the clinging of the silt at low tide on the Thames, where the lens of greedy eyes would spy out,hear the cry out of the mudlarks
but no larking there.
The gears that grind and inner wheels that wind.

Northern towns do not exist
they're just a story that persists in our collective memory,
a nightmare that we waken from.
These mill town dressing gown like nursery rhymes
designed to make us think we live in better times,
wrapped us up in cotton wool.
Until
we were just as full of fear and fantasy
as our collective memory.

Industrialisation was the sow that suckled pigs,
look at them now,
Swines
don't talk to me of better times
don't talk to me at all.

I was doing what you do when you gawk at a hawk
the hawk was just hawking about as hawks do,
now,
a lark would be larking about but not when a hawk
is out hawking about
and that's about it,
a slow night in Stratford.

Time, tick. away today.
Like any other day.
Time, ticke--d away.

Why do I stand by this window.
To see life move around me.
Like some crazy dance.

People fat and thin.
And all between.
People with no fault of there own.
Come in.

Time, tick. away today.
Like any other day.
Time, ticke--d away.

The girl with a smile.
A dog tied to a pole, barking.
When I turn on the TV.
It is Pop Larking.

Time, tick. away today.
Like any other day.
Time, ticke--d away.

A giant shroud in divine aura
Beckons me, summons me near
Larking on the cosmic harp
A sweet celestial spirit sharp
Who moves stone hearts to tears

The song rings out, around, above
A medley on which spirit can rove
All joy and all love soars in there
Sound drifting through enchanted air

Imbued with cosmic passion rare
Summons souls out of the lair
The song is ours, to sing with God
The spirit won't be squashed, downtrod
In incessant fury we appear

I went and did it and I knew it, had to grow up
just a wee bit
but then I grew a little more,
didn't want to but I did it.
I got rid of childish things, like
snotty noses, rubber rings and
learnt to swim among the big fish,
wish I didn't grow at all.

Nothing here that keeps me young
no marbles, plasticine or
bubble gum, no kiss, chase, tell,
no teacher with the old school bell,
no larking, laughing like a clown
no fish and mushy peas no more,
the chip shops all closed down
some time ago.

We all go through it, grow and do it
and I never knew a one that grew and knew it
for the best,
but I'm stuck on page fifty-two in the book of
my life and I can't for the life of me
turn to page fifty-three
I don't want a new page
I want a new age,
about ten will do,
ten before I grew and knew
who I was.

Lets spice up our *** life she said to me,
been reading this book and so plain to see,
If we tried something new,after going to bed,
things would be better than just giving head

so we tried this and that,and I said did that suit you ,
it was ok she replied,but get the Kama sutra,
so her leg went here,and my leg went there ,
like a *** game of twister with her rear in the air

all seemed fine and she started to straddle
said please treat me rough,smack my ***
with a paddle,have the palm of my hand
that would be better,all was good and things got wetter

heh grab  cable ties ,strap me onto the bed,
******* I thought ,there left in the shed,
but my work tie was near and I thought
well that"s handy,all this larking about got
me so ******* randy

At the end of it all ,she came and I went,
two sweating masses ,hot, bothered, and spent,
so if things have got dull at the end of the day,
best treat yourself  to 50 ways to weh hey

A smooth and straight, an ordinary road
But in contrast to the houses of the area with trim hedges
Round their gardens with their cherry and apple trees,

That smooth and straight, and ordinary road, was an outsider
And ditto to re-occupied Nissen huts.

Heath grass had been cut short up to the edge of the road.
Down the centre there were proper markings
And cat's eyes.   Now, I retain a picture of a squeaky clean
Smooth surface, colour a silvery, smoky grey.   

Cars, trucks, some US military,
Would pass you by, grouped or singly, brusquely,
An air of unconcern native to them,
Engines' noises punctuating dominance

And if you ever thought to walk, even slide
A foot onto this road, vehicles
Would not stop and there would result outrage.
Sometimes I dreamt of a distant city.

I figured plain buildings hard to get to know, imposing,
In my mind it would be a quiet place
And, of course,
Important.  Fifty miles; what
Anyone would do there, beyond imagining;

It all meant something different
At less than seven years old.

Those days we caught a bus, which went the other way,
To go to school.  We had to cross that silver/grey road,

That inflexible road, then walk
A furlong or so up a gentle *****

Across the grassy heath to a winding
Road shaded by a deciduous wood, with crows;
A bendy, friendlier road.

With some of us larking about we went in a group
To wait for the bus.
Anywhere near that first road,
I walked close to the parent escorting us.

I would always feel unsafe near such an unkind road.

My heart is like an unexplored galaxy
Along with various stars
Glimmering flickering stars
Light of sun in and afar
The cosmos binding scars

Like in empty space full of
Meteors
Asteroids
Bounded by bolide and comet

But obvious there is no oxygen
And group of flesh will pay and access
Cosmic expanses
And remain for infinity the same

And soul the tiny atom of faith
Larking in those dark
Conditions meet, meld and melt
Beats adrift
Along with soul drowning together

Essence currents

Fireball, in and out
Torpedo?
It's space full of planetoids

And my heart,
Remained entangled in chaos of cosmos in search of eternity.

 
©wheneyesnarrate

She smells of the ink that broke grounds anew
His skin, like the paper, passed from me to you
They spoke of that era, intimately gone
The children waited for their dance in the sun

Their biggest statues were products of their times
Five years of longing, and two of moonlight
They speak of a tongue under deep scrutiny
They wither to write and that simply can’t be

These Paperbound Heroes surrendered their souls
So that which they speak can never be controlled
Each one lingers about in a leaping house
Their structure of thymes, their words of coals

Do not forsake them for long

A dreamer bedridden to some old device
His mind of electricity kept out the lice
They’ll take your deep pockets and show you your heart
What “folly’, what “fool” will bring about a start?

The capes and the crosses, and their simple times
Where one could live free without begging a dime
They can’t save us from the books where they’re bound
But it is enough that these stories resound

These Paperbound Heroes sacrificed their souls
To fill what’s within, the new century’s hole
Each leaps about like a larking mouse
Their stature of crime, their works of tolls

They won’t follow for long

Where are the beat-down, the colleagues with crowns?
The always around, knowing what’s going down
The knowledge-filled lungs in the smoke-filled rooms
An idle guitar, the ideas to groom

The poets and dead-beats that you spit upon
Welded our worlds, those vast vagabonds
Vain as they are, rough as they come
The smallest of pawns are still parts of the sum

These Paperbound Heroes, they silvered their souls
In pure desperation to decry the poll
They lark about in the loneliest house
Their stolen rhymes, their worn-out goals

They are forever strong

The boy in the bed, well he wrote for a while
He was transfixed by the drawn, timeless smiles
So who’ll be the one that will get in his way?
And trivialize every word he will say

The girl with the gun chose to lay her arms down
She chose to cease with such visceral sound
I believe they’re happily married today
It is bittersweet to throw oneself away

These Paperbound Heroes are weary and sold
Their grasps so that they may simply grow old
But if you fret that they belong in their house
In due time, the kids will grow into their soles

Move forward with your song

Crisp the air, and bright the day,
Brighter still was your radiant trust,

Your delightful honeyed greeting,
Eyes glistening with mesmerising magic,

Your courage is a cherished treasure,
Strength glimmers deep inside you,

We two walked as one delicious lyric,
Each of our steps lit with fresh hope,

Tan suede shoes gracefully tapping,
High heeled over hills and canal stones,

Holding your soft hand upon the crest,
Our fingers waltzing together lovingly,

Larking downhill with shared earthy joy,
Our laughter swirling through the air,

We glided under nature's canopy,
Dancing with gleaming inner peace,

Our journey a serenade of sentences,
Your words weaving softly into mine,

Your name is nectar inside my mouth,
My name with your voice is a melody,

Lush rose petal lips butterfly shaped,
Silken threads of sunlight unite us both,

The doors of our inner dreams opened,
Trees and waterways became our lounge,

We melted each other with pure passion,
Unveiling layers of transparency,

Upon the bed of the vast open garden,
The fingers of sanctuary traced over us,

I swam so shyly in your amber eyes,
Throbbing with ripples of pure bliss,

Our touch, the silky touch of our eyes,
A bridge glowing with intimate dignity,

On that curved soul ridge sat you and I,
Both sharing a flawless drink of respect,

In an age of icy cybernetic existence,
Both of us knew a much warmer tune,

Breathing in the sublime moments,
Tasting the scent of the late season,

The essence of your gorgeous patterns,
Darling, you and I, we discovered solitude,

Our spiritual kiss, it was ever so deep,
Lips and tongues wrapped in rapture,

This kiss, it twinkled and caressed us,
Musical notes felt in the fabric of our souls,

The fingertips of two unexplored worlds,
As we two parted, we felt the air pulsate,

In our minds we hugged each other close,
This was our mystical and tender embrace,

Oh, my gorgeous eyed dove, fly freely,
Reach for the soul of the vast cosmos.