Sunday, 27 May 2012

Kingdoms of Light

For several months,
a dry channel coursed
its dry mouth
through a sweep of
unknown south-west sussex,
cracked and crusted crests
curving under bridges,
through sluices,
no water to whet the thirst
of the cinder-dry reeds.

But then all of a sudden
a spring welled up
from the ground:
fonted up, as if
into the hands of God,
pure water filled the channel,
steadily bursting
to an eary-low
conch shell rush.

I realise now
that I have been marking
my own life alongside it.
I have been waiting
for wetness, movement,
to ride it.

And I have marked
my life
by the epicycles
of the planets,
and the slow nocturnal
cycling of the stars
as they careen,
as they move closer
and farther away;
as the Earth
adjusts its tilt.

Polaris moves steadily off course,
the constellations crack
like a ripe pomegranate
or the fruit of love.

Sometimes the beauty
is just too much
and I wish for it
to take me.

But no:
there is far too much,
far too much here
for our palms to see
and I fear the worst -
hope we all see
the writing on the wall
before the finger of Babylon
points into the dark inside us
and our Kingdoms of Light fall.

Wednesday, 23 May 2012

The World Is

The world is
children behind bars:
their play areas like
Alcatraz: memories of
black figures
walking past them
in the slitted sunshine.

The world is the sun
blistering with its love,
unable to contain itself,
its being, its joy, its
will to power: its joyeux de
vivre, insolation.

The world is trees breaking
into wind, their music the
music of leaves. And the world is
a series of invisible gestures,
presents, wishes, misspent moments,
kindred hours, harsh words,
loving words, loving scorn:
my heart trailing
like a wet slug
up to your door.

Tuesday, 22 May 2012

When I am Sixty

When I am sixty will my wife ride a bike
to the shops and back in summertime?
And in her basket will she carry a clock,
will she style her hair short and straight,
short and straight and ivory grey?
And of a Sunday will she read a book?

And if I arrange a dinner for eight
will she get there on time, or will she be late?
And will she keep her temperament fine
and love with ease in the summer time?
And will she be gentle and will she be mild,
carrying her grace as if a child?

When I am sixty will I have grown short?
And will I still make a witty retort?
And will I dare to eat a peach, and see the mermaids
singing each to each? And will I part my hair?
And will I snarl with a vicious snare? Or will Prufrock
be a milder fellow - I have known love,

bathed in meadows. Trod
in the black maze of shadows.
I have kissed lips - sour and full.
I have lived and danced, and I have found
that life's a thing to be worn - a gown.
And I have seen the mermaids, singing
each to each - till my darling's voice wakes me....
When I'm sixty, in love will I drown?


It's a story of eight syllables
per line, or thereabouts
but throwing the form
is fine: quatrains don't have to
internally rhyme.

It's a story that starts like this:
glances, words, lips; the
joining of sensitive fingertips.
And by the end of it, all
is not fine.

But do you know why?
Well, here's the story.
I can no longer cry
over its telling

(but here comes the black gold:
here comes the

How can the human heart drown a person so? 
And in joyous joy still bring darkest sorrow?
And how can pleasures give one sleep
and yet spurn one in that deep to weep?

I loved her for many a year and
swore never to desecrate her form:
her body was a vessel, yes,
but we left our bodies behind:

we found the God in each other.
We said, is that us in the mirror?
Must be, she said. Can't not be, can it?
But looking upon my body

is like looking at myself in a photograph.
It does not seem real, because
my body has evaporated, escaped me,
and all that is left is light, and the

luminous manifestation of love.
And in these luminous truths she gave me eternal life.
And when she died, I eternally died.
And even though I know so much, I

can never survive without her at my side.
Can never love again. Because her love
is enough to sustain me in all lives: this
life, the future life, and all the lives I might wish

or not wish for. Her love opened up a door.
I stepped out from a small room to a verdant infinity.
She showed me the way, showed the body's decay,
but we were buried in ecstasy, two angels in flame.

So tell me how: how can the human heart 
drown a person so? And in joyous joy still bring 
darkest sorrow? Because the heart is an ocean:
I took a dip in hers, was submersed in the riptide,
drowned joyfully, secreted into that pulsing ribbon of muscle,

and I shall never find my way back home.

Sunday, 20 May 2012

The Rose Hourglass

It started with a sultry smile,
her eyes set in jade looking deeply
into the clock of my love,
lust came unfrayed, and sleepy
was my mind, calm my disposition:
our two bodies synchronised,
I started the ignition, drove her
home, sat her atop a supernatural throne.
She unclammed herself, I fingered
the throng; unclapsed the fabric
to angel song. Some call the body wrong,
some say that angels weep, and sick
is the vessel: seven-fold pale-green sin, carnal crime:
but as midnight came she chimed twelve times
and her keeper let me in.

Thursday, 17 May 2012


Around you,
a kernel, a nut,
coalesces a universe.
Happiness draws in the
world, and
spins it up
into silken yarn.

Around you,
all is drawn in,
because your gravity
is too strong.
But don't blow up
or in singularity go:
I want to join you.
Show me. Know me.

So where to?
Your soul has outshelled you.
Your eyes now glow.

House of Joy

[Enter script here...]

> come populate
> the House of Joy/
> Girl or boy

Query: vacancies?
Boolean: Yes, never the no

> Come populate the House
> We have no doors here, just windows...

> Run server://computer/House/God/Human-Eternal-Life/

Error msg: wherefore evil?

> The only evil
is belief in its existence,
and the brief perversion
of purity

> Love is for ever here
> Unconditional

> New msg: House goes global
in 5... 4... 3... 2....

Wednesday, 16 May 2012


If I die before I'm due
and this is my final hour,
then let me say this to you,
and let your heart ring with a power:

if I die before I'm due,
just remember this:
I'll take with me the years,
the love, the shade,
the kiss,

the willow, the trust,
the tender fleshy aching thrust
of your heart,
and all the plays
of your part.

If I die before I'm due,
let me leave you this:
take your positive energy
and run with it. Take
all your passions
and strike up art.
Take your life to pastures light
and kill with life the dark.

And of all our creations
the greatest was this:
not a homestead, not a dynasty,
nor even a kiss;
the greatest thing we made
was a little, loving boy.

We took our flesh, 
my love, 
my light, and 
transformed it 
into joy