travelling

 

 

 

                                                              travelling

                                not centered
                                              too many local things to note
                                              to spin into
                                              gaze away from
                                              spin away from
                                which is fine but do not lose that you are travelling
                both passing and staying

 

 

 

attention wormhole: more importantly
travelling wormhole: train journey

 

as I pass

 

 

 

                           driving up towards
                           the bus stop

                           trousered leg forward she
                           flicks something three
                           four times from her
                           wide-open lapel
                           slight shudder

                           as I pass

 

 

 

woman wormhole: not a word

 

train journey

 

 

 

                                                              train journey

                                              a time machine
                           working oblivious through scattered
                           times frozen in brick branch window
                                and field

 

 

 

travelling wormhole: possible

 

at the apex

 

 

 

                                                      two
                                          blackbirds
                           on the roof of the house opposite
                           running and stopping and turning
                                          up and down the tiles it seems
                                          to determine who will stand
                                                      at the apex

                                                      at length
                                          the dominant one flies off
                           somewhere else
                                                      the other hops to the top
                                                      and stands
                                          no dipping no turning
                                                      one
                           with the receding lines
                                                      tiny
                                                      at the far end
                                                      still

 

 

 

stillness wormhole: ‘the Buddha statues …’
blackbird wormhole: crows on the / chimneys / of 40/38

 

sunny morning

 

 

 

                      after a night
                                   of no electricity where
                                   the carpets seemed like floorboards
                                              and we snuggled together in bed
                                                              un-asleep

                                              sunny morning

                      high high in the sky
            a wide band of cirrus cloud
                      allows the whole world
                                   to move its rooftops beneath it

                                              more direct
                      a jet trail cuts into it – no
                                              above it –
            drifting at fifty miles an hour
                                   I look back into my book
                      then glance back out at the poem

                      the cloud
            has magnified as it settles behind
                                   the rooftops chimneys treetops
                      the jet trail nowhere to be seen
                                              I’m sure I’d noticed it

 

 

 

chimney wormhole: wide-open / concentration
reading wormhole: the spectre

 

strangers

 

 

 

                                                      strangers

                           we come out from town
                           and walk up the paths of the peaks
                           loosened enough to say hello to each other
                           glimpse-to-face clean with the faint echo of ages

 

 

 

a piquant companion to the more verbose, but none the less widening, ‘how ‘do published so long ago on the path that it has turned the corner and fallen out of sight …

 

Castleton wormhole: Sunday
walking wormhole: walking

 

gully

 

 

 

                                              gully

                                background –
                                              a hill further on rising slightly
                with each step higher to the left
                                middle ground –
                                              outcrop with a lone hawthorn against the sky
                moving to the right another few steps and it will
                                foreground –
                                              a whole bush moves right in front
obscuring everything

 

 

 

Castleton wormhole: smalltown / Derbyshire
walking wormhole: perched

 

train // line

 

 

 

                                                      train

                                          “so long since your uncle has seen you
                                            … how tall you’ve grown”

                                          cabinet-dark oaks around
                                          the edge of the field
                                          leaf turning yellow by the line

 

 

 

oak wormhole: boots on / for a walk

 

train

 

 

 

                                          train

                                   righ’
                      wherearewe
                                   oh
                      I’ve got the A-Z upside
                                   down
                                   OK
                      where’s me lucky stars?
                                   as
                      the hanging clouds
                                   speed
                      behind the passing trees

 

 

 

”whatdoyouwantmylove…’ on the train …’

 

 

 

                                              ‘whatdoyouwantmylove…’ on the train
                seats ahead constant commentary
                                ‘…rabbits made of strawberries or pineapple?’
                as the Man Who Wears His Head Shaved passes
                                with ‘Scum’ on his t-shirt

 

 

 

travelling wormhole: losing the mind