like a walking silence
she steps into a lion's den
of sound

he teaches the guitar to speak
his fingers asking questions
the answers such sweet music

*

il enseigne la guitare à parler
ses doigts en posant des questions
les réponses telles de musique douce

,,''''"""""*.

..,,

,,,,,,:;;;




the insects made a fuss of them
like a cloud of full stops and commas
attending a Punctuation Convention

elle porte l'avenir
dans son ventre
il débutera contre le bout de ses doigts
*
she carries the future
in her belly
it kicks against her fingertips

son visage dispersés
à travers les carreaux
les cris de miroir
*
her face scattered
all over the tiles
the mirror screaming

une feuille déambule dans la porte
assis dans mon siège préféré
Je suis assis sur le plancher

*

a leaf saunters in the door
sits in my favourite seat
I sit on the floor

mis à sécher
votre soutien-gorge mouchetée
utilisé comme un hamac par un rouge-gorge
*
hung out to dry
your speckled bra
used as a hammock by a robin

your heart
the only altar
I can kneel to

son faux sourire
nage dans un verre d'eau
dort à côté d'elle

*
her false smile
swims in a glass of water
sleeps beside her

she yawns hugely
"Go to sleep love!"
"No! Only my breath is tired!"

the insects made a fuss of them
like a cloud of full stops and commas
attending a Punctuation Convention

& . . .

She felt like
a lady

she had cut out of
a magazine

when she was 13
stuck in a scrapbook

because she wanted to be
'her."

But, she had stuck her
in wrongly

had to tear her
/out/again/stick her/in again

only her feet
had to be torn off.

She felt like that
now

watching her feet in lurid green shoes

move her about
the streets of her home town

50 years later
& trying to become

the young girl
of then

who had wanted to be...
. . .come

a cut-out-woman
in a make-believe world.

A cyclist crashed
into a tree

too busy looking at her
just as a feather

floated in front of
her.

Noise & feather
choreographed together.

Synchronised serendipity.

She felt as if Icarus
had fallen into the sea

in a Breughel painting
in an Auden poem

& only she was there
to see

the mythical man which
her father had told her of

so long ago.

In the so long ago.

There was a tiny stone
in her shoe.

It was hurting her
quite badly

but she kept on
walking out of

her life
forever.

The river roared
like an angry God

( flowing under
the steel bridge )

a serpent of
coiled evil

who demanded
sacrifice of her.

She climbed over
the guard rail

&. . .

& . . .

She felt like
a lady

she had cut out of
a magazine

when she was 13
stuck in a scrapbook

because she wanted to be
'her."

But, she had stuck her
in wrongly

had to tear her
/out/again/stick her/in again

only her feet
had to be torn off.

She felt like that
now

watching her feet in lurid green shoes

move her about
the streets of her home town

50 years later
& trying to become

the young girl
of then

who had wanted to be...
. . .come

a cut-out-woman
in a make-believe world.

A cyclist crashed
into a tree

too busy looking at her
just as a feather

floated in front of
her.

Noise & feather
choreographed together.

Synchronised serendipity.

She felt as if Icarus
had fallen into the sea

in a Breughel painting
in an Auden poem

& only she was there
to see

the mythical man which
her father had told her of

so long ago.

In the so long ago.

There was a tiny stone
in her shoe.

It was hurting her
quite badly

but she kept on
walking out of

her life
forever.

The river roared
like an angry God

( flowing under
the steel bridge )

a serpent of
coiled evil

who demanded
sacrifice of her.

She climbed over
the guard rail

&. . .

& . . .

She felt like
a lady

she had cut out of
a magazine

when she was 13
stuck in a scrapbook

because she wanted to be
'her."

But, she had stuck her
in wrongly

had to tear her
/out/again/stick her/in again

only her feet
had to be torn off.

She felt like that
now

watching her feet in lurid green shoes

move her about
the streets of her home town

50 years later
& trying to become

the young girl
of then

who had wanted to be...
. . .come

a cut-out-woman
in a make-believe world.

A cyclist crashed
into a tree

too busy looking at her
just as a feather

floated in front of
her.

Noise & feather
choreographed together.

Synchronised serendipity.

She felt as if Icarus
had fallen into the sea

in a Breughel painting
in an Auden poem

& only she was there
to see

the mythical man which
her father had told her of

so long ago.

In the so long ago.

There was a tiny stone
in her shoe.

It was hurting her
quite badly

but she kept on
walking out of

her life
forever.

The river roared
like an angry God

( flowing under
the steel bridge )

a serpent of
coiled evil

who demanded
sacrifice of her.

She climbed over
the guard rail

&. . .

"I'm a hundred per cent
behind you..."

she reassures me.

But, when:
I look behind me...she's

a 1000%
not there.

12 FINALLY ARRIVES

cornered by Pi
at the party listening to
a stream of never ending decimals

"Polygon?"
"Yeah, mate
ya just missed her!"

feeling a bit obtuse
wanting but unable to
chat up that cute angle

a group of isosceles triangles
throwing shapes
on the dance floor

a tipsy triangle
spills her drink
over a square

numbers
in their prime
strut their funky stuff

"Why....hic...why"
argues 4 drunkenly with 5
"...can't I came after you!

a decahedron
taps the mike
"Eh...1...2...1...2!"

1 & 2
don't notice nobody
French kissing on the dance floor

leaning up against the wall
a very very drunk
right angle

123 wolf whistles
as ABC slinks
suggestively by

123 asks ABC
for her number
"I don't give out my digits ..seen?"

at the Infinity Disco
the parallel lines
finally meet

"Forgive me for saying so but( hic! )
the squares on your hypotenuse are equal to..."
she slaps him across the face

Sine and Co-Sine
passed out
in the same corner

"My field is trigonometry!"
boasts Tan
"What's your star sign?"

a cornered circle
listens to a bore
telling her "It's hip to be square!"

12 finally arrives
everyone goes berserk
'HAPPY NEW MATH!"

*.  


Playing with the maths instead of paying attention to the maths. I liked the Maths but the Maths couldn't stand this dull boring boy. The Maths and I parted our ways and this was all that was left of our relationship.

I was really bad at the old math and then the new math came in and I was equally bad at that.

12 FINALLY ARRIVES

cornered by Pi
at the party listening to
a stream of never ending decimals

"Polygon?"
"Yeah, mate
ya just missed her!"

feeling a bit obtuse
wanting but unable to
chat up that cute angle

a group of isosceles triangles
throwing shapes
on the dance floor

a tipsy triangle
spills her drink
over a square

numbers
in their prime
strut their funky stuff

"Why....hic...why"
argues 4 drunkenly with 5
"...can't I came after you!

a decahedron
taps the mike
"Eh...1...2...1...2!"

1 & 2
don't notice nobody
French kissing on the dance floor

leaning up against the wall
a very very drunk
right angle

123 wolf whistles
as ABC slinks
suggestively by

123 asks ABC
for her number
"I don't give out my digits ..seen?"

at the Infinity Disco
the parallel lines
finally meet

"Forgive me for saying so but( hic! )
the squares on your hypotenuse are equal to..."
she slaps him across the face

Sine and Co-Sine
passed out
in the same corner

"My field is trigonometry!"
boasts Tan
"What's your star sign?"

12 finally arrives
everyone goes berserk
'HAPPY NEW MATH!"

12 FINALLY ARRIVES

cornered by Pi
at the party listening to
a stream of never ending decimals

"Polygon?"
"Yeah, mate
ya just missed her!"

feeling a bit obtuse
wanting but unable to
chat up that cute angle

a group of isosceles triangles
throwing shapes
on the dance floor

a tipsy triangle
spills her drink
over a square

numbers
in their prime
strut their funky stuff

"Why....hic...why"
argues 4 drunkenly with 5
"...can't I came after you!

a decahedron
taps the mike
"Eh...1...2...1...2!"

1 & 2
don't notice nobody
French kissing on the dance floor

leaning up against the wall
a very very drunk
right angle

123 wolf whistles
as ABC slinks
suggestively by

123 asks ABC
for her number
"I don't give out my digits ..seen?"

at the Infinity Disco
the parallel lines
finally meet

"Forgive me for saying so but( hic! )
the squares on your hypotenuse are equal to..."
she slaps him across the face

Sine and Co-Sine
passed out
in the same corner

"My field is trigonometry!"
boasts Tan
"What's your star sign?"

a cornered circle
listens to a bore
telling her "It's hip to be square!"

12 finally arrives
everyone goes berserk
'HAPPY NEW MATH!"

1966 -AND ALL THAT!

Asks me up for
a snifter...so she does!

"Don't mind if I do!"
I all cocky like.

Knowing I am in
for a bit of the other.

But when I get up
find she's a history buff.

The Battle of  ****** Hastings
runs around her living room

in some  boring Norman
cartoon in full colour.

Whoever did this
wasn't a very good drawer.

She does that trick of
removing her bra from her sleeve.

I love it when a bird does that.
"Glad to get out of that!" she smirks.

It lands on the bird cage.
The parrot goes nuts.

Opening skirmish methinks
in the battle of our wills.

OK I admit I'm a bit like Alfie.
Michael Caine but slightly fatter.

On the couch  - her mini riding up.
Sneak an arm around a shoulder.

Getting bolder - place a palm
upon a fishnet thigh.

But she only wants to talk about
Harold and how he lost the battle.

My libido shattered.
"Hic **** Rex interfectus est!"

That famous feigned retreat
that led to the rout.

Was it feigned or not?
I couldn't give a ..!

And that was one in the eye
for that Harold geezer -  or was it?

The Bayeux Tapestry
tells no lies or does it?

When is a tapestry not a tapestry?
When it's an embroidery.

She tells it as if it was
a close run thing.

"Like this year's FA Cup
when the Owls lose a two goal lead

and the Toffees beat them
3 goals to 2.

"Stand up if you won the war!"
One can imagine the chant.

I understand it when
she puts it like that.

And the geezers on the hillock?
Were they placed there before or

after the famous running away?
Her eyes brim with tears.

And it's this passion of hers
that draws me in.

That and the devil
in the details.

Like the ******* putting on
his chain mail the wrong way.

Or the Papal ring
with the tooth of St. Peter

hidden underneath its stone.
How do they get these things?

Or Haley's Comet streaking
across their skies.

"Isti mirantvr stellam"
she whispers to herself.

One can imagine a commentary on it,
"They think it's all over...well...it is now!"

But she still goes on and on
about it...refuses to let it go.

Finally she gives over
and gives in.

A one night stand.
I admit it.

But a one night stand that's
lasted 30 years now!

On our purple anniversary
I give it to her.

She thrilled
to bits.

Hill and Rumbles's
"The Defence of Wessex:

The Burghal Hidage &
Anglo-Saxon Fortifications."

She brings it to bed.
I do the washing up.

Put out a milk bottle
and the cat.

The cat sneaks
back in again.

I no longer looking like
Michael Caine.

"Isti mirantvr stellam."
I whisper to myself.

3 APPLES & A PAIR OF PEARS

The paintbrush leans over the table's
edge,,,,,,,,,,

vomiting a lurid green
drip by drip by,,,,,,,,

The still life has got
even stiller.

No longer 3 apples &
a pair of pears.

Now only
their cores.

turning a nasty brown.

An ant investigates.

To the ant the cores are
Mount Rushmores

only in apple and pear
instead of stone.

And Little Miss
( the painter )is

nowhere
to be seen.

Little Miss is
missing.

The canvas holds the scene
prisoner in paint.

There in various shades
of green are

3 apples &
a pair of pears.

Stripped down
to their cores.

Looking curiously
naked.

Here a note
speaks in blue and green:

"Dear You
I got bored &

...was hungry.

Gone to lie
in the sun.

Singed: Me!"

A dead blue bottle
washed up on a window sill

pretending to be a jewel.

A cat enters the room.

"Me? How!" it demands.

Although this is ostensibly about shoelaces, times tables and swans in Prague...it is obviously a love poem for me Da....now that I can't bring him anywhere...I bring him everywhere.

7 TIMES 7 IS...?

When I was four
I fretted

over things I couldn't do
like tie my tie...tie my shoe

laces were
beyond me

as were such things as
7 times 7 is.  . ?

My Da  would get it right
Every time...I'd...eh...forget.

Or he would tie my laces
so they couldn't come undone.

Or do me a splendid
Windsor knot.

For the life of me I
simply could - not.

And when I grew up to be
5

would I know by then
maybe...by 10.

Was never sure
about being sure.

Ties...laces...times tables
defeating me.

My father all love
and hugs and smiles.

Now them...them I
could do.

And my father could
pin a river down

a blue line flowing
in an atlas

watching it wriggle
under his thumb.

"Vltava!"
he'd command it

and it would pause
to listen to its name.

He told me the river
lived in Prague

and that was somewhere
I...forget.

And here I am at almost 64
gazing at the Vltava in person.

Know it for what
it is

and all its swans
all its swans.

I even now where
Prague is now.

I stand in its
December.

My father who art in Heaven
I pray to you

as I used to do
when I was 2.

You better
than any God

I could ever
imagine.

So here I be in Praha
watching the waters

of the Vltava
repeating a Czech tongue twister

laughing at its absence
of vowels.

"Prd krt skrz drn, zprv zhlt hrst zrn!""
What a howl!

Still have trouble with
those ****** laces.

My wife laughs as
they come undone and. . .come undone.

**** them!
**** them!

Can only make a bad stab
at a Windsor knot.

Get by by
not wearing a tie.

Hugs and loves
and smiles?

I know them
by heart.

I hug you
in my mind's eye.

Know now
that 7 times 7

is and always will be.

*

Prd krt skrz drn, zprv zhlt hrst zrn!

A mole farted through grass, having swallowed a handful of grain

7 TIMES 7 IS...?

When I was four
I fretted

over things I couldn't do
like tie my tie...tie my shoe

laces were
beyond me

as were such things as
7 times 7 is.  . ?

My Da  would get it right
Every time...I'd...eh...forget.

Or he would tie my laces
so they couldn't come undone.

Or do me a splendid
Windsor knot.

For the life of me I
simply could - not.

And when I grew up to be
5

would I know by then
maybe...by 10.

Was never sure
about being sure.

Ties...laces...times tables
defeating me.

My father all love
and hugs and smiles.

Now them...them I
could do.

And my father could
pin a river down

a blue line flowing
in an atlas

watching it wriggle
under his thumb.

"Vltava!"
he'd command it

and it would pause
to listen to its name.

He told me the river
lived in Prague

and that was somewhere
I...forget.

And here I am at almost 64
gazing at the Vltava in person.

Know it for what
it is

and all its swans
all its swans.

I even now where
Prague is now.

I stand in its
December.

My father who art in Heaven
I pray to you

as I used to do
when I was 2.

You better
than any God

I could ever
imagine.

So here I be in Praha
watching the waters

of the Vltava
repeating a Czech tongue twister

laughing at its absence
of vowels.

"Prd krt skrz drn, zprv zhlt hrst zrn!"" *
What a howl!

Still have trouble with
those ****** laces.

My wife laughs as
they come undone and. . .come undone.

**** them!
**** them!

Can only make a bad stab
at a Windsor knot.

Get by by
not wearing a tie.

Hugs and loves
and smiles?

I know them
by heart.

I hug you
in my mind's eye.

Know now
that 7 times 7

is and always will be.
. . .

A BIRD SOMEWHERE SINGS

He smiled.
Death smiled too.

Took a tiny sip of water.
As did Death.

Death now
mimicking his every movement.

Shadowing him.
Becoming him.

....in time.

Death stared
out of the mirror.

But the man didn't
recognise

that this was
his death.

He had only 2 minutes
left to live.

The man went on doing
some insignificant

ordinary things.

D.I.Y.
finally getting around to it.

Death copying the least
gesture

like a comedy duo
in a vaudeville act.

Each little tic
exact.

Like Groucho.
Like Harpo.

Death lying on the floor.
Adopting the same posture.

Arms flung out.
Eyes staring up

...into the nothing.

The radio keeps on
talking.

The phone
rings.

A bird
somewhere sings.

A BIRD SOMEWHERE SINGS

He smiled.
Death smiled too.

Took a tiny sip of water.
As did Death.

Death now
mimicking his every movement.

Shadowing him.
Becoming him.

....in time.

Death stared
out of the mirror.

But the man didn't
recognise

that this was
his death.

He had only 2 minutes
left to live.

The man went on doing
some insignificant

ordinary things.

D.I.Y.
finally getting around to it.

Death copying the least
gesture

like a comedy duo
in a vaudville act.

Each little tic
exact.

Like Groucho.
Like Harpo.

Death lying on the floor.
Adopting the same posture.

Arms flung out.
Eyes staring up

...into the nothing.

The radio keeps on
talking.

The phone
rings.

A bird
somewhere sings.

A BIRD SOMEWHERE SINGS

He smiled.
Death smiled too.

Took a tiny sip of water.
As did Death.

Death now
mimicking his every movement.

Shadowing him.
Becoming him.

....in time.

Death stared
out of the mirror.

But the man didn't
recognise

that this was
his death.

He had only 2 minutes
left to live.

The man went on doing
some insignificant

ordinary things.

D.I.Y.
finally getting around to it.

Death copying the least
gesture

like a comedy duo
in a vaudeville act.

Each little tic
exact.

Like Groucho.
Like Harpo.

Death lying on the floor.
Adopting the same posture.

Arms flung out.
Eyes staring up

...into the nothing.

The radio keeps on
talking.

The phone
rings.

A bird
somewhere sings.

A BIRD WAS EXPLORING TIME AND SPACE

March was doing that thing
where it was just becoming

April and
the thunder

muttered to itself
'bout something or other.

"Mumblemumblemumble!"
it rumbled.

Very un-Eliotish.

Rain fell, but
its heart wasn't in it.

A bird was exploring
time and space

sticking a little bit of song
on to a quarter to two

where the Downs come up
and say howdy do to the horizon.

You: were as dead
as ever.

All memory could do
was draw a child's

stickman version
of you.

I still refused to
believe it.

But time was
wearing me down.

That bird just kept on
trying to glue

that one piece of time
to that one piece of place.

But it just wouldn't
do.

I turned and
walked away.

"Where is tomorrow? In another world..."
as the poet had said.

Can't say I could
answer that question.

A BIRD WAS EXPLORING TIME AND SPACE

March was doing that thing
where it was just becoming
April and

the thunder
muttered to itself
'bout something or other

"Mumblemumblemumble!"
it rumbled
Very un-Eliotish

Rain fell, but
its heart
wasn't in it

a bird
was exploring
time and space

sticking a little bit
of song
on to a quarter to two

where the Downs come up
and say howdy
do to the horizon

you: were
as dead
as ever

all memory could do
was draw a child's
stickman version of you

I still refused to believe it
but time was
wearing me down

that bird just kept on
trying to glue
that one piece of time

to that one piece of place
but it just wouldn't
do

I turned and walked away
"Where is tomorrow?
In another world..."

as the poet had said
can't say I could
answer that question

A BIRD WAS EXPLORING TIME AND SPACE

March was doing that thing
where it was just becoming

April and
the thunder

muttered to itself
'bout something or other.

"Mumblemumblemumble!"
it rumbled.

Very un-Eliotish.

Rain fell, but
its heart wasn't in it.

A bird was exploring
time and space

sticking a little bit of song
on to a quarter to two

where the Downs come up
and say howdy do to the horizon.

You: were as dead
as ever.

All memory could do
was draw a child's

stickman version
of you.

I still refused to
believe it.

But time was
wearing me down.

That bird just kept on
trying to glue

that one piece of time
to that one piece of place.

But it just wouldn't
do.

I turned and
walked away.

"Where is tomorrow? In another world..."
as the poet had said.

Can't say I could
answer that question.

A BIT OF A JOKER

Death takes down
space.

Death dismantles
time.

"You no longer
need these." he smirks.

"Just human constructs...
part of life's illusions."


He erased the sky.
He packed up the mountains.

He rolled up the horizon.
He removed my name.

"No need of these
where we're going."

"Oh..." he told me
as if he had forgotten

"...leave your memories
they are no longer necessary."


Death looked around
"Well, that's that then!"

"To infinity and beyond!"
he chortled.

I hadn't figured on Death
being a bit of a joker.

A BLACKBIRD CHIPS AWAY AT IT

here on the shore
of your death
only time between us

remember walking with you
in the last century
this century I walk alone

Time lends me sleep...dreams
I conspire to meet you there
together we outwit death

I assault the world
with my grief
embarrassed it turns away

the world
not big enough
to contain your death

I am bound
in a nutshell
even grief tires of me

happiness hurts
even for daring
just to be there

I don't forget you
I just can't
remember you as you are

happiness shushes me
"Hush...hush!" it soothes
my guilty tears

an invincible sky
frozen silence
a blackbird chips away at it

A BLACKBIRD CHIPS AWAY AT IT

here on the shore
of your death
only time between us

remember walking with you
in the last century
this century I walk alone

Time lends me sleep...dreams
I conspire to meet you there
together we outwit death

I assault the world
with my grief
embarrassed it turns away

the world
not big enough
to contain your death

I am bound
in a nutshell
even grief tires of me

happiness hurts
even for daring
just to be there

I don't forget you
I just can't
remember you as you are

happiness shushes me
"Hush...hush!" it soothes
my guilty tears

an invincible sky
frozen silence
a blackbird chips away at it

A BLACKBIRD CHIPS AWAY AT IT

here on the shore
of your death
only time between us

remember walking with you
in the last century
this century I walk alone

Time lends me sleep...dreams
I conspire to meet you there
together we outwit death

I assault the world
with my grief
embarrassed it turns away

the world
not big enough
to contain your death

I am bound
in a nutshell
even grief tires of me

happiness hurts
even for daring
just to be there

I don't forget you
I just can't
remember you as you are

happiness shushes me
"Hush...hush!" it soothes
my guilty tears

an invincible sky
frozen silence
a blackbird chips away at it

A BLACKBIRD CHIPS AWAY AT IT

here on the shore
of your death
only time between us

remember walking with you
in the last century
this century I walk alone

Time lends me sleep...dreams
I conspire to meet you there
together we outwit death

I assault the world
with my grief
embarrassed it turns away

the world
not big enough
to contain your death

I am bound
in a nutshell
even grief tires of me

happiness hurts
even for daring
just to be there

I don't forget you
I just can't
remember you as you are

happiness shushes me
'Hush...hush! ' it soothes
my guilty tears

an invincible sky
frozen silence
a blackbird chips away at it

here on the shore
of your death
only time between us

remember walking with you
in the last century
this century I walk alone

Time lends me sleep...dreams
I conspire to meet you there
together we outwit death

I assault the world
with my grief
embarrassed it turns away

the world
not big enough
to contain your death

I am bound
in a nutshell
even grief tires of me

happiness hurts
even for daring
just to be there

I don't forget you
I just can't
remember you as you are

happiness shushes me
'Hush...hush! ' it soothes
my guilty tears

an invincible sky
frozen silence
a blackbird chips away at it

A BLACKBIRD CHIPS AWAY AT IT

here on the shore
of your death
only time between us

remember walking with you
in the last century
this century I walk alone

Time lends me sleep...dreams
I conspire to meet you there
together we outwit death

I assault the world
with my grief
embarrassed it turns away

the world
not big enough
to contain your death

I am bound
in a nutshell
even grief tires of me

happiness hurts
even for daring
just to be there

I don't forget you
I just can't
remember you as you are

happiness shushes me
"Hush...hush!" it soothes
my guilty tears

an invincible sky
frozen silence
a blackbird chips away at it

A BLACKBIRD CHIPS AWAY AT IT
( For Brian )

here on the shore
of your death
only time between us

remember walking with you
in the last century
this century I walk alone

Time lends me sleep...dreams
I conspire to meet you there
together we outwit death

I assault the world
with my grief
embarrassed it turns away

the world
not big enough
to contain your death

I am bound
in a nutshell
even grief tires of me

happiness hurts
even for daring
just to be there

I don't forget you
I just can't
remember you as you are

happiness shushes me
"Hush...hush!" it soothes
my guilty tears

an invincible sky
frozen silence
a blackbird chips away at it

A BLACK VIOLIN ABANDONED IN THE SNOW

Being dead is like
being a haunted house

and you are
its resident ghost

like a black violin
abandoned in the snow

for no good reason
other than

that's just the way
it is.

Actually it is the future
that is haunting you

the things you never
got to do.

The life left un-lived.

The days that should have been
yours.

That's why being dead
hurts like hell

the what you didn't do
or didn't get to do

that leaves you strung out on the air
the great regret

still cursed with consciousness.

A BOY MADE OF LEAVES
( for Paul Kearney )

The Curragh!
5,000 acres of fun

where a boy
could roam

through all the realms
of a 1960's childhood.

Our house is gone now
only two pillars still stand

leading into an empty
nothingness.

I shoo a sheep
out of the bedroom

once ours
our voices carved in the air.

Here a sheep pees furiously
in what had been the bathroom.

The house has become
a ghost

haunting itself..

I still the little boy
hiding in the Marian Shrine

invisible to one
and all

under an ocean
of leaves

startling the passerbys
with a quick "Booo!"

Or a "Poo to you!"

The ****** Mary blushes
upon her pedestal

frowning upon
such antics.

My shame
telling it in confession.

The wind scatters
my childhood.

I walk into the mist
erasing me bit by

...bit.


*


Chatting to Paul Kearney on facebook and tripping down memory lane...he remembering me from a time I couldn't even remember myself! The Marian Shrine beside the church somehow came up and we both had memories of playing amongst a myriad of leaves.

I used to hide under them...so many...so many and call out things to make a statue of the ****** say: "Oh sweet Jaysus!"It was great fun to see people startled out of themselves trying to figure out where on earth( not even thinking of an invisible boy drowning under lots of leaves)the voice was coming from.

My Godmother Breda Ryan passed by and was given the treatment only to say: "Those leaves have the voice of a boy I know...how strange! I hope those leaves go to confession!"

So it was I was given 10 Holy Marys and three How's yer Fathers and advised not to startle the good folk of the Curragh with my leafy voice. Oh I was a bad leaf when I was small. But I have since turned over a new leaf.  I never did it again or since...though now I am sorely tempted!

A BOY MADE OF LEAVES
( for Paul Kearney )

The Curragh
5,000 acres of fun

where a boy
could roam

through all the realms
of a 1960's childhood.

Our house is gone now
only two pillars still stand

leading into an empty
nothingness.

I shoo a sheep
out of the bedroom

once ours
our voices carved in the air.

Here a sheep pees furiously
in what had been the bathroom.

The house has become
a ghost

haunting itself..

I still the little boy
hiding in the Marian Shrine

invisible to one
and all

under an ocean
of leaves

startling the passerbys
with a quick "Booo!"

Or a "Poo to you!"

The ****** Mary blushes
upon her pedestal

frowning upon
our antics.

Our shame
telling it in confession.

The wind scatters
my childhood.

I walk into the mist
erasing me bit by

...bit.

A BOY MADE OF LEAVES
( for Paul Kearney )

The Curragh!
5,000 acres of fun

where a boy
could roam

through all the realms
of a 1960's childhood.

Our house is gone now
only two pillars still stand

leading into an empty
nothingness.

I shoo a sheep
out of the bedroom

once ours
our voices carved in the air.

Here a sheep pees furiously
in what had been the bathroom.

The house has become
a ghost

haunting itself..

I still the little boy
hiding in the Marian Shrine

invisible to one
and all

under an ocean
of leaves

startling the passerbys
with a quick "Booo!"

Or a "Poo to you!"

The ****** Mary blushes
upon her pedestal

frowning upon
our antics.

Our shame
telling it in confession.

The wind scatters
my childhood.

I walk into the mist
erasing me bit by

...bit.

*

Chatting to Paul Kearney on facebook and tripping down memory lane...he remembering me from a time I couldn't even remember myself! The Marian Shrine beside the church somehow came up and we both had memories of playing amongst a myriad of leaves.

I used to hide under them...so many...so many and call out things to make a statue of the ****** say: "Oh sweet Jaysus!"It was great fun to see people startled out of themselves trying to figure out where on earth( not even thinking of an invisible boy drowning under lots of leaves)the voice was coming from.

My Godmother Breda Ryan passed by and was given the treatment only to say: "Those leaves have the voice of a boy I know...how strange! I hope those leaves go to confession!"

So it was I was given 10 Holy Marys and three How's yer Fathers and advised not to startle the good folk of the Curragh with my leafy voice. Oh I was a bad leaf when I was small. But I have since turned over a new leaf.  I never did it again or since...though now I am sorely tempted!

A BOY MADE OF LEAVES
( for Paul Kearney )

The Curragh!
5,000 acres of fun

where a boy
could roam

through all the realms
of a 1960's childhood.

Our house is gone now
only two pillars still stand

leading into an empty
nothingness.

I shoo a sheep
out of the bedroom

once ours
our voices carved in the air.

Here a sheep pees furiously
in what had been the bathroom.

The house has become
a ghost

haunting itself..

I still the little boy
hiding in the Marian Shrine

invisible to one
and all

under an ocean
of leaves

startling the passerbys
with a quick "Booo!"

Or a "Poo to you!"

The ****** Mary blushes
upon her pedestal

frowning upon
our antics.

Our shame
telling it in confession.

The wind scatters
my childhood.

I walk into the mist
erasing me bit by

...bit.

A BOY MADE OF WATER

he gazes
at a boy
made of water

a boy very
much like him
but a well away

a stone away
a splash away
an echo away

the boy made of water
disappears in ripples
the re-appears

gathers himself
together
in his round world

he stands on tiptoe
balances on elbows
on the well's rim

Maman is shouting
"NON. JEAN. NON!"
making him almost

topple in
and become
the boy made of water

she hits and kisses him
kisses him and hits him
tells him he is a good/bad boy

the well is boarded over
but he can still hear
the boy of water

calling him
calling him to come
and play

A BRIEF HISTORY OF A LITTLE GIRL

she's a mere three
demands to know
"...the history of me..."

well, now I say
that was a long time ago
"...try to remember..." she pleads.

I remember when you
first came out of your shell
hatched into a lovely little girl

you were my duckling
everywhere I went
there you were

I could hear you cry
even before you cried
you made me a good daddy/mummy

your dreams
staining the blue
pillow with golden curls

every night the moon
would come to our window
just to take a peep at you

one day your name
perched upon you
and never flew off again

you were a fairy story
I had never heard before
and wanted to hear more

once when you fell
you hit the road
"Naughty road for falling me!"

"No I never!"
she squeals
"Oh yes you did!" I tickle

"Is there any more of me?"
"Oh loads...loads more
but I too old and tired!"

"Well..!" she tells her dolls
"He tells a good story but
shhh...it's not all true!"

the dolls gasp in disbelief
having drunk  down
the dregs of every detail

A BRIEF HISTORY OF A LITTLE GIRL

she's a mere three
demands to know
"...the history of me..."

well, now I say
that was a long time ago
"...try to remember..." she pleads.

I remember when you
first came out of your shell
hatched into a lovely little girl

you were my duckling
everywhere I went
there you were

I could hear you cry
even before you cried
you made me a good daddy/mummy

your dreams
staining the blue
pillow with golden curls

every night the moon
would come to our window
just to take a peep at you

one day your name
perched upon you
and never flew off again

you were a fairy story
I had never heard before
and wanted to hear more

once when you fell
you hit the road
"Naughty road for falling me!"

"No I never!"
she squeals
"Oh yes you did!" I tickle

"Is there any more of me?"
"Oh loads...loads more
but I too old and tired!"

"Well..!" she tells her dolls
"He tells a good story but
shhh...it's not all true!"

the dolls gasp in disbelief
having drunk  down
the dregs of every detail

A BUTTERFLY'S SHADOW

her words
a butterfly's shadow
flitting from flower to stone

a broken cobweb trying to
attach itself to a sunset
words not said

tearstearstears
"Breathe with me.." says the sea
"Shhhhh...seee....shhhhh!"

the stranger has your ringtone
also your eyes...hair
& smile

she passes by
like a ghost of you
I cry

strangers everywhere
pretending to be you
statues to my grief

dark night
a cigarette glow
marches up&down& down&up

every so...often
the glowworm glow
of a mobile phone

the cigarette cast aside
an arc to the right
footsteps walk away into the dark

You smile
just like

my favourite foreign movie

seen only once
without subtitles

so I had to guess
the gist of it.

I continue to
re-run

that smile

in the cinema
of my head

as if my libido
were an enthusiastic critic

giving rave
reviews of it.

A CHAIR IN THE SKY

But now--Manhattan holds me
To a chair in the sky
With the bird in my ears
And boats in my eyes
Going by

Joni Mitchell -  A Chair in the Sky

**

I break cleanly through the dream
gasping for morning
"Well, hello there!" smiles the newest day

I still had memories
clasped in my hand
but they lost their lustre  in the light

"Glad to have you back with us!"
shouted the room a little too loudly
and the furniture agreed wholeheartedly

they needed a human
to give them a purpose
otherwise they were just pieces of wood

sunlight grovelled
fawning at my feet
licking the tips of my toes

the window had arranged
trees and flowers and fields
to prove the existence of a world

the curtains breathed in then
out again
the lungs of the room

I gathered myself together
put on my Past...searching for my Present
"Now where did I put my Future?"

"Read me...read me!"
a dog-eared book demanded
barking page 69 all the time

"Shut it!" I told it
shutting it
it falling silent

soon the morning came
fully into being
"How do you do?" it enquired politely

"Fine..." I lied "Fine!"
now where the hell
did I leave my mind

I found it under
some dried up dreams
that had escaped from sleep

my mind was a little rusty
but still worked
even if a little slowly

"Ok...ok!" shouted the day
"Let's get this
existence on the road!"

"Do you have to shout..?" I moaned
"No..." it whispered
"...but can we get on with it!"

Reality is...I thought
a foreign country
they do things differently there.

A CHAIR IN THE SKY

But now--Manhattan holds me
To a chair in the sky
With the bird in my ears
And boats in my eyes
Going by

Joni Mitchell -  A Chair in the Sky from her 1979 Mingus album

**

I break cleanly through the dream
gasping for morning
"Well, hello there!" smiles the newest day

I still had memories
clasped in my hand
but they lost their lustre  in the light

"Glad to have you back with us!"
shouted the room a little too loudly
and the furniture agreed wholeheartedly

they needed a human
to give them a purpose
otherwise they were just pieces of wood

sunlight grovelled
fawning at my feet
licking the tips of my toes

the window had arranged
trees and flowers and fields
to prove the existence of a world

the curtains breathed in then
out again
the lungs of the room

I gathered myself together
put on my Past...searching for my Present
"Now where did I put my Future?"

"Read me...read me!"
a dog-eared book demanded
barking page 69 all the time

"Shut it!" I told it
shutting it
it falling silent

soon the morning came
fully into being
"How do you do?" it enquired politely

"Fine..." I lied "Fine!"
now where the hell
did I leave my mind

I found it under
some dried up dreams
that had escaped from sleep

my mind was a little rusty
but still worked
even if a little slowly

"Ok...ok!" shouted the day
"Let's get this
existence on the road!"

"Do you have to shout..?" I moaned
"No..." it whispered
"...but can we get on with it!"

Reality is...I thought
a foreign country
they do things differently there.

The scarecrow
balances a moon
upon a red mittened hand

a mouse
looks out
of his left eye

the scarecrow
shivers
with the change of weather

I see he still wears
my old coat
it suits him better

in the inside pocket
an old Metro ticket
an unfinished poem

the words indecipherable now
looking like a scarecrow
wrote them

in my dreams
the scarecrow takes the train
finishes the poem

his ending
better than
mind

I toss the moon
from one red mittened hand
to the other

a mouse looks out
my left eye
I wonder how the scarecrow's doing?

I shiver
with delight
it's gonna be a long night

A clock
...ticks.

A vase
reflects upon itself

in an enormous ornate
gilt mirror

admires
her own flowers

& how they are
arranged.

A fire
spits sparks

sending shadows
scuttling up walls.

A coal scuttle
is either half empty/half full.

A clock
strikes nine
&... chimes

slightly ahead of
the real time.

.A picture
quaint & antique

hangs slightly askew
against the horrid

wall paper
& its unattractive roses.

A record
(an old shellac 78)    

has found a scratch
&  keeps returning to it

picking at the musical phrase
like a scab.

Caruso’s... got...  got... hiccups.

One mirror
gazes into the face
of another mirror.

Both enamoured
of the other

seeing only
themselves.

An un-drunk cup of tea
cools steadily

leaving a thin skin
on top.

A sugar lump
has come to rest

on a small
Turkish carpet

depicting
the delights of Paradise.

A moth falls madly in love
with an old flame

but it soon fizzles
out.

The only thing living
in this room

is an old tattered tortoiseshell
cat asleep

by her master’s
stockinged feet

so deep
she hasn’t even heard



Death
enter
&
leave.


A clock
...ticks.

A CLOCK TICKS

A clock
...ticks.

A vase
reflects upon itself

in an enormous ornate
gilt mirror

admires
her own flowers

& how they are
arranged.

A fire
spits sparks

sending shadows
scuttling up walls.

A coal scuttle
is either half empty/half full.

A clock
strikes nine
&... chimes

slightly ahead of
the real time.

.A picture
quaint & antique

hangs slightly askew
against the horrid

wall paper
& its unattractive roses.

A record
(an old shellac 78)    

has found a scratch
&  keeps returning to it

picking at the musical phrase
like a scab.

Caruso’s... got...  got... hiccups.

One mirror
gazes into the face
of another mirror.

Both enamoured
of the other

seeing only
themselves.

An un-drunk cup of tea
cools steadily

leaving a thin skin
on top.

A sugar lump
has come to rest

on a small
Turkish carpet

depicting
the delights of Paradise.

A moth falls madly in love
with an old flame

but it soon fizzles
out.

The only thing living
in this room

is an old tattered tortoiseshell
cat asleep

by her master’s
stockinged feet

so deep
she hasn’t even heard

Death
enter
&
leave.

A clock
...ticks.