Friday, 31 May 2013

Love in a Later Time

'If you go clinging to love's spine,
she'll shake you off her back, dear boy.'
And so I wait for love in a later time.

'Love is a slippery thing, its slime
turns predators to prey, makes a killer coy.'
I count the vertebrae, clinging to love's spine.

'You can polish love, but it won't shine:
it's the dirtiest and most worn coin. You'll toil.'
And so I wait for love in a later time.

'Love's a pike swallowing poetry, line by line;
it'll only try to pull you in and under. You'll be its toy.'
I shan't go clinging to that love's spine,

for love like that's romantic crime.
'Ah, so be careful. Keep love's cogs oiled:
treat her well in love's later time.'

I will, I will. I'll speak it and not mime.
These lips shall spume forth geysers of joy.
I'll take these hands from off love's spine.
In light or shadow, I wait for love in a later time.

Thursday, 9 May 2013

You are the Sun

An empty cache of light
feasting, engorging on itself,
you are a scintillation of a wave-length
compressed to an empty point
and an empty point and an empty point
agglomerated into the dense and
beautiful you.

But you are not empty in my eyes:
your insolation feeds me.
You are the sun.
You are a quantum trick:
you are a goddess
to make disbelievers question their

I am Paul of Tarsus
on the road to Damascus.
I am Jesus
before you. You are Horus,
you are all that ever was
or will be
to me.

You are the sun.

Wednesday, 8 May 2013


You always said I
was a 10,000 piecer.
I always maintained
I was 10:
a child could fathom.
A smiling face
or a country wren.

You were the one

all a-jumble;
I just kept mine
out of sight.
But there's nothing wrong
with a crumble,
your possibilities twinkling
part-way in the light.

But I could see them.

And you could see mine.
All except for one:
maybe you took it.
Maybe I did the same.
Will I ever be complete
with a missing piece?

Put me together

but don't frame me.
There's nothing wrong
with boxes. A little dust
can't hurt.
But I wonder of
my missing -

where is it?

What's the word?
But I'm okay not knowing.
Love, don't give it back:
your piece fits mine
far better.

And there it is:


Sunday, 5 May 2013

We Are Here

Isn't it time
to do all the things
you always wanted to do?

Now the waves no longer
lap at you, at
your feet: you're
one with the water;
you're one with the street.

The book in your hand,
now it melts into you.
The sadness, it 
falls away

And the words 
on your tongue,
they petal out.

You are everything, 

Rose buds burst red
from your 

Song for an Angel (When the Lights Go Out)

My love, in your tired feet,
in your robes of tattered fleece,
what will you do when the sun goes down?
What will you do when the lights go out?

When we're left in this afterbite
of the bitter world, joy a-fright,
where will you turn to make no sound?
What will you do when the lights go out?

In whose hand will you place yours?
And where to safety, on which shores?
Whom will you see when hell breaks out?
Will it be me, when the lights go out?

My love as powerful as the crunch of gears
that halt, the inertia of two thousand years
coming fast and big, not slowing down;
I'll hold you close when the lights go out.

Saturday, 4 May 2013

The Keeper

Turn towards the inner light:
star bright, sun bright.
Black-eyed angels holding on,
a rippled rhubarb raspberry throng
of summer birds chanting song,
chanting on,
a pomegranate in my hand
like a smile from God's face.

Turn into the inner light,
it shines forth now like a lake at night
and it ripples with your eye's delight
and crushes you, but you'll win the fight.
When my love walks, she treads on
the ground. O! but she floats, to me.
The wind of home blows freshly.
Irish child, where are you? Come home to me.

Turn outwards your inner light,
let the world see it.
But keep its source for me.
I'll find you in the darkness:
I'll be the only one who sees.

Friday, 3 May 2013

The You in Me

Jeez, why don't he
chill out?
Jeez, why don't he
step back?
He's always cracking jokes;
he's always on
the attack.

It's like he puts us all
before himself;
where's his own
Surely it's
affecting his health...

And what is it
with him
It's like he's 
like a dried pea in a can
making too much noise -
what a fucking sham.

But, baby, they forget:
ain't no empty sun be shine.
Ain't no good thing
not a whole.

I ring because you
set me off:
that note of me
that chimes away,
it's you.

It's you,
shining in my soul.

Thursday, 2 May 2013

Stay Wild

We both came
from different angles of hurt,
with different shades of burn.
I'd never held true love,
hot and panicked fire;
you'd felt it heated in your turn.

Turning first fires' ashes

with sticks to get an ember
and holding things
you wanted lost, and yet
you still remembered.

We both came 

from different angles of hurt.
But what if I said,
'I promise never
to give you unfelt words:

if I were ever insincere

I'd blunt my blade and off my ear....'

And if you said,

'Don't be na├»ve
- it's bound
to lead to somewhere
dark: wilderness, trees-'

I'd stop you there

and simply say,
'We'll start out wild,
and there we'll stay.'