mlewisredford

calculated indefatigable and tentatively illimitable naïveté …

tune up // baton taptaptap

 

 

 

                                                              tune up

                                after the rain
                and the paths still wet
                the window can now let open
                to clear the condensation
                from the bedroom at the level

                of treetops and roofs
                the network is already gathering
                pre-call testing testing
                three notes – pigeon pigeon

                                throat-clear – mute
                                long   lift-glide-land
                                coda

                                              ough/
                                              ourrrgl/
                                              ough

                                                              time lapse
                                                              chapter lapse
                                                              three-call crow
                                                              oblique cut-off

                                                                                  yjour/yjour/yjour

                                              while seagulls climb and
                                swoop each other silently

                                                              baton taptaptap

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

bedroom wormhole: achieving good-enough living
birds wormhole: open window
music wormhole: letter 080514
open wormhole: waiting room
pigeons wormhole: afternoon 290613
rain wormhole: on sitting / in front of / a hedge
rooftops wormhole: Maidstone
seagull & trees wormhole: I could step / more open
voices wormhole: 1964
windows wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot

 

fully clothed

 

 

 

                                              the beach
                                an open panoply of exposed flesh
                                as much as can be bared
                frills and tassels in the wind

                                                              but there
                                through the bodies and umbrella stems
                                a glorious beach float nine months belly
                fully clothed in a bathing suit

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

beach wormhole: tag cloud poem VI – anyone’s eyes
others wormhole: 1964
wind wormhole: cold wind

 

a cup of tea, gov

 

 

 

                      she’s ‘roughed out an essay’
                                   on the terrace table
                      while the sky rose blue and distinguished itself
                                   from the sea
                      now she squeaks about the apartment
                                   in pink crocs
                      as the sun appears from over the cliffs behind making
                                   a cup of tea, gov

 

on the happy 33rd anniversary of that growing contract between us, exempting itself from all clauses that have never have been needed had they been made anyway, through sheer maturation; we are almost organic, now …

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

blue & sky & sun wormhole: I could step / more open
C wormhole: happy birthday, my love
love wormhole: letters to Mum IV – healing comes in smiling
morning & sea & sound wormhole: !
pink wormhole: on sitting / in front of / a hedge
speech wormhole: letters to Mum III – ongoing-term // eventually
table wormhole: swifts test the chasm of sky
tea wormhole: again

 

consturnation …? // consternation

 

 

 

                                                   consturnation …?

                                   woke up
                     from a dreamless night of consternation

                                   and worried
                     I’d taken all the turmoil from Van Gogh’s
                                   picture

                     in my greedy poem – the picture now seemed so flat –
                                   walked out
                     about town and got so spaced from hunger that I

                                   noticed
                     the deep purple of ridged tiles waving on a roof
                                   like the

                     custom-tone of a new Audi and once I’d
                                   eaten

                     some potato salad with gherkin

                                   I saw that
                     the cornfield still had all of its sway
                                   and burble

 

seuquel to … the poppies / of van Gogh

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

dream wormhole: letters to Mum IV – healing comes in smiling
field wormhole: they find their life growing together –
green wormhole: I could step / more open
hotel wormhole: !
poetry wormhole: this is not my poem / although I found it nevertheless
purple wormhole: … sshhh
roof wormhole: in the middle of silence and heat:
walking wormhole: movement

 

letters to Mum IV – healing comes in smiling

 

 

 

                                                                                              261298

                Dear Mum,

                                good to talk with you over Christmas
                                              honest and open
                                              I love that even when we don’t meet
                                              we can say we haven’t met to each other
                                                              when needed; we had

                                              a good holiday
                                              set everything up and
                                              let it all happen
                                              by itself
                                some of it was boring
                                some of it was tinsel-ly
                                Joe* called it ‘Winterval’
                I call it the gift to see like a child; recent dreams

                                of Eglinton Hill**
                still coming to terms with Dad leaving
                                after all these years … we had all been left
                                              we all had to survive, we all had to move down
                                              from Eglinton Hill to terraced Genesta Road*** –
                                              environment of survival – with the silly talk
                                              and crazy plans of becoming through the 70s

                                healing comes in smiling on the pain we carry
                                              befriending dis-order to help the heal
                                                              with the benign mind it ensues (it is
                                not the perfect but the imperfect that
                                                                      is in need of our love said our Oscar****)

                                              you might have
                                              good years left

                                              not cured but
                                              checking the

                                              cancer with
                                              little giggle and

                                              slight hysteric
                                              and you are right:

                                              bugger the dignity
                                              bugger the unfairness and
                                              bugger the chemo

                                Zen Master Hakuin was accused
                                of fathering the child – ‘is that so!’
                                he took care of the child – just so
                                the mother confessed, the parents
                                apologised and in yielding back the
                                child – ‘is that so!’

                much love, mark

 

     * eldest son; Mum was a Jehovah’s Witness and abstained from celebrating Christmas even though she loved the season when she was younger; Joe’s comment somewhat echoed the argument that Christmas had been hijacked
    ** large, semi-detached, Victorian 4-bedroom house where we (my Mum, my brother, my Grandmother and myself) lived up until 1971; no longer able to keep hold of it we had to move down the hill to …
  *** … Genesta Road, terraced, 3-bedroom, someone else’s wallpaper on the walls until we could change it ourselves
**** we shared a love of Oscar Wilde’s wit

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

part of the ongoing life and page of … Mum
abandonment wormhole: amid
child & time wormhole: I could step / more open
Christmas wormhole: on
Dad wormhole: ‘“ruddy crows!” / said my Dad …’
dream wormhole: my fidgety self
Eglinton Hill wormhole: tag cloud poem VI – anyone’s eyes
Genesta Road wormhole: letters to mum II – family // like a grate
Joseph wormhole: dream / 140603
love wormhole: happy birthday, my love
mother wormhole: the retriever the daughter and the mother
Mum wormhole: letters to Mum III – ongoing-term // eventually
smile wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot
talking wormhole: city-centre-coffee-shop / talk

 

1964

 

Music: Anyone Who Had a Heart; singer: Dionne Warwick; writers: Burt Bacharach, Hal David

 

 

                                1964

                                out of all the gathered crescendos only
                                my own voice sustained clear

                                while others waited contrapuntally
                                for the outcome and rejoinder

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

1964 wormhole: … walking down the street
Bacharach & Dionne Warwick wormhole: 1963
childhood wormhole: letters to Mum III – ongoing-term // eventually
life & voices wormhole: I could step / more open
others wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot

 

I could step / more open

 

 

 

                                it’s all just nonsense
                the things to buy the things to wear
                                the schools to teach
                                the roads to drive
                the born to life the choices to make
                                the faces to set
                                against the sun

                                but two things:
                there is a tree with deep-wine blossom
                next to the red-brick apartments with balconies
                and the sky hangs indifferent and only
                changes when you think about it afterwards

                                I could step
                                more open
                                through all of this
                noticing the space and treasuring the happenstance
                and not caring about the gain or the journey
                                until I think
                                about it afterwards

                                              -o~~~-

                                                              OK …
                                              … sandwich
                                pausing to get out my notebook
                a seagull alighted on the promenade lamp
                                and waited
                                flew off

                                              -~~~o-

                the statue of an Elder
                cast in rolls and folds of overcoat
                stares disconsolately roadward
                and blooms green over the years
                ignoring the traffic passing and indicating
                and all the while beside and behind
                the pollarded tree out of the pavement
                branches all the same length now
                                              budding

                                              -|o____

                by the cobalt-blue railing
                on the lower promenade
                passes a child-voice reciting
                high – slightly complaining –
                cascading downwards with
                each syllable in a language
                which I cannot understand

                                              —o|||

                                                                                 but
                                                              you don’t look to see
                                              otherwise too many thoughts crowd your eyes
                                rather you let enter to observe
                so that the disparate can be made

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being wormhole: this is not my poem / although I found it nevertheless
blossom wormhole: Manhattan 2012
blue & Have & sky wormhole: Maidstone
branches wormhole: ‘“ruddy crows!” / said my Dad …’
buildings wormhole: introducing / the stranger
child & faces & green & identity & life & red & seagull & thinking & time wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot
letting go wormhole: letters to Mum III – ongoing-term // eventually
looking & seeing & sun wormhole: !
looking wormhole: open window
promenade wormhole: 1963
roads wormhole: the Buddha head in an antique shop
space wormhole: multifarious: the Dark Knight Returns (1986)
travelling wormhole: sniff
trees wormhole: no hat
voices wormhole: connections
waiting wormhole: that’s me / in the corner that’s me in the spot light / losing my religion*
writing wormhole: the precision // the gentleness // and / the letting go

 

!

 

 

 

                                              !

                                              sitting
                at the breakfast table
                                on the terrace thinking
                                              to practise
                                              taking in
                                the view rather than going out
                                              to arrange it: the palms near and far
                above chrome railings
                                              the hotels peripheral
                                sun-blinded and perched
                                              over the bay

                                              when
                                from deep out the horizon
                                              flying low and camouflaged
                                grunged a
                                              Lan
                                              cas
                                              ter
                                              bom
                                              ber
                                bulbous-nosed and wing fins

                bbbjjjjjjjjjjjdjdjdjdjdjeeyyhhwwwwwwoooooouuuuuuu

                                              maybe
                                I was trying too hard

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

horizon & sea wormhole: I will eventually drift tectonic
hotel wormhole: the poppies / of van Gogh
looking wormhole: our life
morning wormhole: g’morning
seeing wormhole: the precision // the gentleness // and / the letting go
sitting wormhole: waiting room
sound wormhole: sniff
sun wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot

 

happy birthday, my love

 

 

 

                                              happy birthday, my love

                                                              I bought
                                my girl two dresses
                                three dresses they slim
                                to her waist and flare
                                from her hips in pleats
                                and linen, shapes of
                                petal in freefall from
                                stem down to the
                                puddy feet in sandals
                                with tanned decisive
                                arms and just tamed
                                hair arcing and
                                cumulating grey
                in all direction

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

birthday wormhole: 2nd November 2011
C wormhole: our life
feet wormhole: in the middle of silence and heat:
grey wormhole: introducing / the stranger
hair wormhole: movement
love wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot

 

capes flying

 

 

 

                                              capes flying

                                when a
                giant radioactive rat
                                rose from the river
                                Batman and Robin
                                swung
                their soulless boots – legs braced ready –
                                towards the creature’s flank

                                but the size
                                of the rat
                made it freeze of movement
                                              like a painting
                                and its black-eyed realisation also
                                              froze the
                                              Dynamic
                                              Duo such that their feet never connected
                                no matter
                                              how hard they pushed

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

Batman wormhole: only the Batman realises that he is dead
black wormhole: Love Me Do
blue bat wormhole: gotcha
eyes & river wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot
Robin wormhole: point of realisation

 

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