Tuesday, 16 July 2013

Love Song of the May Bug #1

So here I am, vaulting up into the dusk
of this lovely summered realm, or
rather sitting here in my lonely bedroom, sussed
out by my heart, beating faintly like wings.

I think of you, how I'd like to settle
into your air, down to your wet ringlet rings,
get tangled in you, as if in your hair, sore
to lay this brood, and not be cut down like a nettle.

I don't want to come back yearly
to this same annual point, pinged 
into this blind night abuzz, yet merely
moved on like an unloved pest, and racquet-torn.

I sit here by this window, the hills lovely and vast,
hearing wings buzzing faintly - into your future; into my past.

Friday, 12 July 2013

Let Poetry Save Your Life

Come neglected, come dejected
come lay down your strife.

Lay down
at your mother's feet:
let poetry save your life.

You think it a thing of one dimension
full of words like 'metre' and 'scansion'

but come and feed, 
and satiate your needs;
let poetry save your life.

Your eyes are blue, but full of tears
like a sky anticipating rain;
rain and rain, again and again.

But rush out to your moonlit street;
let poetry save your life.

When you can see they aren't merely words
but glowing hearts, passed on like embers,
blown on like lit feathers of coal,

then poetry will save your life: you'll remember
for ever; you will build yourself whole.

Thursday, 11 July 2013

Deep Love, Deep Time

Our love could be deep time, 
glacial time. 
Lodged as a rock. 

We could embed ourselves, 
as kaolinite;

I could hold you through
time's long and
lonely night.

Our love could be deep love,
deep as the speckle
that flecks the above.

A glint of quartz,
a refracted love.

I could hold you -
we could hold each other -
against a vein.

Our love could be infinite,
infinite as the first rocks
of the Earth.

Our love could be
pure presence: present,
but gone unknown;

not a fossil, not a relic,
not calcified bone.

Wednesday, 10 July 2013

Another Poem

          - for Vladimir Holan

Another poem worth memorising
                for everyday situations,
                          on the train
                                      in an elevator
                         on a plane.

The conductor comes
           and I’ve glanced
                                    at you
                         several times

thoughts mixed
                           the poetically noble

A fancy, indeed.
                 A moment to me
                            held in the morning
                                       perfectly quiet,
                            perfectly abandoned.

But forever there.

Choose a Better God

When amazing’s what you’re after
                But it’s always out of reach
I’ll make amazing second-nature;
                It will be a small feat.

When hope to you is citrus fruit
                Growing on Spanish trees
I’ll claim for you that rugged hue,
                And hope for you shall ripen with ease.

The gods you choose are yours to pick,
                Don’t stay the church out of respect
To childhood, fidelity or candle wick
                When there are gods abroad with love to spend.

Come, choose a better God;
                Take me, my love, for protection.
Come guidance, come now, come good,
                And I’ll take from you sacred direction.

Let me live between your thighs
                Like a hermit struck blind with sense.
Only innocence, love, behind my eyes.
                Behind my eyes, my love, only innocence.

Monday, 8 July 2013

Just Poetry

His life reduced
to the sum of his words:
a febrile patchwork
of repetitions
and revisions:

this, Africa's brow
or I'm more bristled
than a toothbrush tip,
every time she mints
new tender with her lips.

No, his life was never
the brink of breathlessness,
a kitchen sink,
plunged, whirling down
to depthlessness.

His is only poetry.
Just poetry. Merely words.
But you're impressed
with what you've heard, when
it's more what you haven't
that's nearer the truth.