heavy shower …

 

 

 

                                                      heavy shower …

                                                      the terracotta
                                                      chimney pot

                                                      on the lichen
                                                      stack before

                                                      the charcoal
                                                      cloud in the

                                                      sun break and
                                                      the wave of

                                                      birdsong in the
                                                      gardens’ trees

                                                      was golden

 

 

 

gold wormhole: grammar
chimney wormhole: sunny morning

 

in the kitchen

 

 

 

                                music
                                on the radio
                                in the kitchen
                                with the blinds down
                                on the wet evening and
                                the smell of chopped parsnips
                                just softening in the oil and the onion

                                is only
                                right when the verse has
                                finished and the sax rejoins with love

 

 

 

evening wormhole: 1972

 

fresh start

 

 

 

                                   fresh start

                steering my life into
                night time envelopment

                helpful gusts from
                the wet street

                offer occasional wafts
                of powdery net curtain

                over long-dried gloss

 

 

 

part of >>> writing and being
part of >>> breeze

 

1972

 

 

 

                                                      1972

                                        rain-sprinkled tarmac
                           evening shop lights petrol rainbow
                                 in the gutter

 

 

 

part of >>> years
evening wormhole: let us mauve a whirl       elongated

 

two writing haikwo

I’d like to re-present a couple of pieces that appeared early on in this blogs history …

 

 

 

                   writing again by
       the falling net curtains and
           the wet car tyres

 

 

 

                                                                                                   typewriting by the
                                                                                           open window showering
                                                                                               heavily outside

 

 

 

part of >>> breeze
existing in … writing and being

 

zen against / the window

 

 

 

                                              zen against
                                              the window

                                one rivulet
                                suddenly broke
                                sideways 70º
                                then continued
                                almost parallel
                                for a long
                                long time
                                then re-joined

                                after thirty two
                                years somewhat
                                energetically

 

 

 

OK

 

 

 

                                     OK

            you got what you wanted
                      dark room
                      slight light
                      rain outside
                      books and
                      pictures
                      wrapped in a
                      blanket
            and you still haven’t found it
            running away from despair
                      in a hundred hopeful ways
                      and you can’t even sit still
                      for ten minutes rather

            I should sit and despair
                      a hundred times a minute
                      but slowly
                      slowly

            all the sweetness of first-written
                      of first scent of colour
                      of first rain in the cornfield
            let them all go
                      they are not the self
                      they are the first glimpse
            of a far far bigger
                      and more
                      beautiful
                      world
                      than you are

 

 

 

beauty wormhole: “write, let’s break / outta here!”
books wormhole: there

 

morning

 

 

 

                      morning

                                   is it just fanciful to think
                                   that it rained all the day you died
                                          and I freshly grieved
                                          the hundred times that
                                          I’d forgotten and then
                                          remembered again
                                   and it blew all the night you died
                                          and I recited my prayers
                                          and thought my thoughts
                                          trying hard to keep my mind
                                          on the emptiness you had become

                                                              but this morning the sky
                                                              is bright bright blue and
                                                              the fir trees are leaning
                                                              here and there not quite sure
                                                              what they are doing here
                                                              all brushed up now
                                                              clean and bristling

 

 

 

… in memory of: Bob 1995-2012
blue sky wormhole: Bob // 1995/2012

 

Bob // 1995/2012

 

 

 

                                          Bob

                      took the scatter
                of wind around the ground
                      and the tumble
                of too many things to deal with
                      in life
                as they fell from the trees in the rain
                      today

                      and spent
                      lifetimes
                sitting on the sill watching
                      a single
                blade of montbretia agitate
                      and
                the crown of the oak lean quietly into
                      the blue
                      blue sky

                      job done

                      calmly

                                          1995
                                          2012

 

 

 

… in memory of: Bob 1995-2012
oak wormhole: Sunday
blue sky wormhole: your gold teeth

 

1974 – Greens / End Woolwich

 

 

 

                                     1974 – Greens
                                     End Woolwich

                                     grey skies
                           above Wellington Street
                           and bright bowls of white light
                           atop stripey poles at the crossings

                                     grey squares
                           of the department store corner facade
                           plastic headscarf against the
                           drizzle scattered all about the tarmac

                                     red 122^A
                           flat-face bus pauses before
                           the neon interior of the
                           carpet store crowdsofpeople

 

 

 

part of >>> years
a street corner of … Woolwich