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

 

Eglinton Hill

 

 

 

                                     Eglinton Hill

                           the end of Autumn sunlow above the hill
                                     shining down the wet tarmac

                           cars drive slowly up sun visors down
                                     upper mouth open squinting
                                                   cheekbones

                           the oaks have lost their leaves now
                                     apart from the furry ivy
                                     that clothes them
                           you can see more of the river
                                     now below the branches

                           and while cars pull in and out of Dallin Road
                                     when it is quiet
                           a young child shrieks a chasing game
                                     in and out of the front garden
                                     with her brother

 

 

 

a room in the House on Eglinton Hill
autumn wormhole: mlewis diptych
oak wormhole: mlewis diptych
Thames wormhole: Bonus Books

 

“don’t move / just die / over and over … / be true to / yourself / and don’t move” / – Suzuki Roshi

 

 

 

                                “don’t move
                                  just die
                                  over and over …
                                  be true to
                                  yourself
                                  and don’t move”

                                  – Suzuki Roshi

                      when I sit I sit
                      in a formal posture
                      in a natural posture
                                only
                      completely still
                      completely still
                                so still that
                      the slightest movement
                      will be seen
                      and smiled at
                      without smiling
                      and in the smiling
                      it will die
                      again and again

                      when I get up from
                                sitting
                      I will do something
                      I will do anything
                      in a formal posture
                      in a natural posture
                      completely doing it
                      completely doing
                                so involved that
                      the slightest pause
                      the slightest spin-off
                      will be seen
                      and included
                      without involvement

                      and ‘in’ the ‘clusion…’
                      it will die
                      again and again

 

 

 

awareness wormhole: realisation
Shunryu Suzuki wormhole: Shunryu Suzuki Roshi

 

the path / no echo

 

 

 

                                                      the path
                                                      no echo

                                     I don’t think I ever noticed
                                     the path out of youth
                                     even while I was treading it
                                     even while I was arming myself
                                     with the ideals and attitudes
                                     I had brought with me

                                     I carry these heavy weights
                                     because of the rarefied atmosphere
                                                                      up here
                                              value-bled
                                              compromised

                                     it always ever was
                                     and is easy to just set it all down
                                     then skip along carefree
                                     but I have strapped it all to me
                                              tightly
                                     defined myself as someone
                                     who does not compromise

                                     and now at 50
                                     I am weary and weak
                                     I see no view
                                     I stare to the ground
                                     to keep the pack on my back

                                     my true path out of
                                     Youth and Resistance
                                                                                    I realise now
                                     is to breathe
                                     out and let it all go
                                     before I breathe
                                     back in again

 

 

 

compromise wormhole: “write, let’s break / outta here!”

 

the end

 

 

 

                      maybe it was the tinted glasses
                      walking uproad to town

                                the
                                wide
                                low
                                grey
                                cloud
                                hung

                      then there was space
                      between the buildings

                      a woman walked handsome out
                      of the House of offices uphill
                                for lunch

                      the bus bsssh’d and waved
                      some suits across the road
                                downhill

                      then there was silence
                      and we all waited for

                                the end

                      under the green steeple

 

 

 

thawing

 

 

 

                                   thawing

                when I just sit
                no ambition no scheme
                then nothing happens

                but as I continue living
                certain excitements
                lose their lustre and
                certain significants
                just stand to one side
                where they always were
                like a scrolling credit
                beside a landscape

                occasionally
                snow will shift a little
                on the conservatory roof
                and I think I’m really
                getting somewhere
                but mostly it is silent

 

 

 

conservatory wormhole: breakfast in bed

 

Dr Strange #6 (Feb 1975)

Dr Strange #6 (Feb 1975); Marvel; writer: Steve Englehart; artist: Gene Colan; inker: Klaus Janson

 

 

 

                     the always aslant encounter
                                of human street and park
                                making their lives
                                          in the grounds they see
                     in the grounds provided to them
                                                   constant encounter
                                as variable as the daily

                                                   for those who see
                     elliptical to the happenstance
                                          the skyline to the treeline
                                                   the glide to the cobbles
                                the palm to the point
                                          the bothstep to the same side
                     to avoid their paths
                                          and collide
                                          Hopper saw it
          and Colan saw it and Strange had already
                                          stepped into it
                                                   stepped out it

                                moment

                                                   but now
                     his pupils were that much more round
                                the trashcan tilted
                                          the better to see now
                                                   the street
                                                   the face in the orb implied
                     that everything had changed and
                                          things
          would never be the same
                                          again

                                          continued …

 

 

 

Dr Strange wormhole: biography

 

sitting

 

 

 

                                sitting

                                so

          you have this sweet in your mouth
                      a broken chunk of toffee
                      or a hard boiled sweet with a soft centre
                                          deep inside
          do you crunch it straightaway
                                break it up into pieces
                      grind them down
                                gimme the sugar
                                          use your strongest teeth
                      next one!
          do you let it sit on your tongue
                      let your mouth melt it
                                maybe suck it a bit
                                          but I will not chew
                      I will not chew
                                you’ll chew
                                          and then try again with the
                      next one
          or do you keep it in your mouth
                      get the size of it
                                flip it around
                                          get some taste off it and
                      wait
                                for the softs and openings
                                to appear by themselves
                                          one last taste then
                      crack
                                chunk into that sucker
                                          you’ve got him now
          but not too soon
                                                                      never too soon and
                                you won’t want another
                                you won’t need another

 

 

 

waiting wormhole: Comfort / Hotel

 

‘glints off …’

 

 

 

                           glints off
                      headlights fixed
                      across the road
                      from the streetlight
                      through the netting
                      the taxiing aircraft
                           overhead

                      and a single burst
                      of three laughs
                      quick and slightly
                           descending

 

 

 

291

 

 

 

                          291

               after silence
                          again

               the cluck of
                          footsteps downhill
               and the sway of
                          plastic bags

 

 

 

a room in the House on Eglinton Hill
Plumstead wormhole: uphill