breeze
——–~”br”~——–
the next step
from the doorway the man
with a slight limp stepped
quickly and as the left
arm flipped back the jacket
flapped open and wrapped
his right arm
——–~”br”~——–
the silent night
of the Batman
even while they carried
their gift-wrapped parcels
and looked to each other
with smiles of belief
the shop signs hummed
against the dark-marbled fronts
while above them the quiet floors
of stone-framed windows
looked east looked south
the same in an ink-black sky
enough to write a novel
in a single sitting
enough to hold a fleet of stars
above the skyline taxiing slowly
then the sky turns ink-green
the rooftop gathers ink-blue attention
and leaps without step
or swing through the glass
and cornice of city vistas and breeze
to shadow the guilt
to alley the share
to streetlight the fear
and river the rose
cast high and wide to the stars until
marzipan fingers reach
across the ink-purple sky
and marshmallow lights
go out
——–~”br”~——–
“…he paced about the bricks with
empty glasses…”
you could see the dust around his
shining car
driving into the desert
(he was driving through water he was
going away
he was drowning).
In the rooftop restaurant
I could barely see his eyes under
the reflection of building and sky
(on the street we
walked past the deep-blue sky poster
for cigarettes)
when he walked
the air rippled through his head
like worms, he said,
“…I felt the clear emotion
of the sky
I…”
“…crumpled inside
felt like wallowing yellow
like ribbed yellow…”
“…in my chest in
whapple, lapple, lapping, lopping…”
he laughed, dead serious.
He told me once
he smiled on the beach, the puddles
smarted his eyes
cut them:
real yellow tears
real yellow tears
real yellow tears
——–~”br”~——–
hovering
in front of the
maroon hillside
the metal stack;
the last
wisp
of smoke
glided awhile
half revolved
then disappeared
——–~”br”~——–
grey sky
in the summer
through
the open window
a cool breeze
the ticking clock
passes one
in the distance
schoolchildren’s voices
——–~”br”~——–
blue and red
various lengths of tubular bells hang from a cheap roof-pagoda over the sunny rooftops. There is a breeze, treetops sway but the bells never
quite
touch
——–~”br”~——–
summertime
the sound of water
wafting in the breeze
the tired girl
sits opposite and
cigarette smoke in the breeze
——–~”br”~——–
pink and blue
on the moist
outmost branch –
lurching
up and down –
the small
bird
pecked –
in the breeze –
the few
remaining
blossoms
at length
on the road
passed
a white-faced girl
on a bicycle
no hands
zipped parka
whistling
——–~”br”~——–
the imperial buildings of Europe
wider than entrance
misty and solid behind flag
with tall windows seeing neither out nor in
dismantled each other
the sound was tectonic in everyone’s face
only the flags stood flapping needlessly
there was nothing left
men now wore their only suit slightly small and uncomfortable
and women wondered
——–~”br”~——–
I’m sorry but
the girl
sitting on the wall
by the bus stop
in a
black shirt and black
shoes
and from
black shorts her
long brown legs
waiting
between breezes and
flexing
her knees
alternately and
un-
rhythmically
——–~”br”~——–
writing again by
the falling net curtains and
the wet car tyres
——–~”br”~——–
the echo of a
small box
through
drops down the
window
to one side
the grey cloud
to the other
the sunset
and the cold air
through the window
which won’t close
properly
——–~”br”~——–
Grizedale College
she came back with
a shy new lover
so he left her room
to browse
another day
the bed under
the open window
the breeze
the sheets
the rearranged
books under
the poster
and the old reggae record
she’d forgotten she had
that had been left
playing
quietly
respectfully
——–~”br”~——–
after the storm
the evening air wafted in
through the window
and a bus started up
——–~”br”~——–
there’s a hole in our garden
of brick and clay
and the rest is long wild grass
and the clay is brown and dusty and dry
and the rustles leaf above
——–~”br”~——–
mauve sky
the tree branch
shifts across the streetlamp
in the breeze
the top-floor window
light goes out
——–~”br”~——–
hotel room
guitar strings
through the window
she blinks
the respiring net curtains
——–~”br”~——–
morning
the breeze of
the grey sky
and the line of
coloured cars
only one occupied
——–~”br”~——–
city twilight
by the slow traffic
he played his guitar in
descending
sevenths and diminisheds
down in jazz-skuffle beat
up in the breeze
——–~”br”~——–
sitting trying
not to look
at the snowfall
under the streetlight
then the curtain shifted –
snow and incense
——–~”br”~——–
looking at the grasses
in the breeze
a fly hovered two feet
in front of me
then
disappeared
over the trees
——–~”br”~——–
peoples’ heads
turned
from one side
white blossom
fell in showers as
the long red bus
paused
then
turned into the square
——–~”br”~——–
the breezy
juxtaposition
of the “airgh”
of the seagull
flying before
a low moon
in the early evening
on the caravan site
——–~”br”~——–
first thing
in the morning
with the breeze
the coach and
the line of traffic
is held half-way
uphill at the
lights
the bright sky
in the tinted
windscreen
amber
——–~”br”~——–
140 m.p.h.
checking
one by one
the speed clocks of each car
to find the highest
the Rover
by the old house
behind the trees and bushes
under a sunny breeze
heralding Springtime
——–~”br”~——–
1973
late in the evening
trees shifted in the breeze outside
while peoples’ lives were touched on the tv
——–~”br”~——–
I sit
and for a few
precious seconds
maybe even
partial seconds
if I’m honest
I’ll breathe
like a tulip
without my notice
or intention
and ‘like a flash of lightning
in the dark of night’
the whole garden
will shift with the breeze
and theme the colour of the moment
too quick
to shelter from the
timeless creeping penumbra
a tangled grubby weave
of voice and echo wide as the sky
ah, but the air the air
——–~”br”~——–
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
——–~”br”~——–
