for / the first time

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                it just rained,
                I heard it through
                the open window,

                the washing’s on
                the line, ah, let it
                stay; the rain

                stopped, I just
                realised looking
                up from the

                book seeing the
                cream facades
                and contrasting

                greys of the new-
                build estate for
                the first time

 

 

 

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

awareness wormhole: every step I take
grey wormhole: Bexhill 140215
open wormhole: open window
rain wormhole: … vague / thunder
reading wormhole: ‘God, who am I …?’
realisation wormhole: amid
thought & windows wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
time wormhole: and // do your ears burn red?

 

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om muni muni maha muniye soha

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                hola de nuevo Gran Canaria
                quiet crucible of dimpled buttock
                and all the beach furniture of recline
                balmy Spanish exchanged – warm water
                poured slappingly on hot languid stone

                om muni muni maha muniye soha

                hola de nuevo Gran Canaria
                with your reveal of dark ink identity
                your candid feet with no guile, each toe
                tells a different story to your tread – painted
                toes and slight bones between knuckles

                om muni muni maha muniye soha

                ah, you bodies you slink
                cool and day-glo all about me
                you bath-robe gods high above
                with your salt-water pools and fruit –
                the headland a giant sitting Buddha

                om muni muni maha muniye soha

 

 

 

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

beach wormhole: is there anything to write?
Buddha wormhole: child
feet wormhole: cinnamon / milkshake
identity & water wormhole: and // do your ears burn red?
sound wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
stone wormhole: St. Mark’s flies flagpole upwards / with the forelegs hanging down obscene / reaching some height blindly to connect / out from the long-stalk tri-separating up- / to-seeded rounds of pod like acacia what / is it called “‘hogweed’ I-don’t-know- / what-it’s-called-but-goats-love-it-and- / it-makes-them-burp-a-lot”

 

and // do your ears burn red?

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                and do your ears burn red, or do you,
                washing dishes, with those same clothes
                rotting under your armpits, still talk
                about visigoths to your pathetic self

                and divine nothing?   I put you in a book,
                because a girl with blond hair told me
                about you one night eating grapes in the
                twilight kitchen, the planes of her face

                growing darker; two years ago, with those
                same clothes, stood in the doorway of the
                old hotel watching a girl named Ann, with
                wet hair walk beside Lake George; acrid,

                now, with the stench of dried sweat and
                your long black hair, your hands puffed
                and creased from the hot water; tell me,
                do your ears burn red?

 

bevelled up into bas-relief out of entry 120. of The Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962

 

 

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

girl wormhole: snapshots about Totnes
hands wormhole: place
hotel wormhole: constant hummm
identity & life wormhole: looking back over the tack / and jibe of my life I / notice there is / a fetch // after all … / but certainly not / where I had planned / or where I thought / I’d been
kitchen wormhole: out
night wormhole: humm
passing wormhole: passing
red wormhole: Bexhill 140215
Sylvia Plath wormhole: at table 21 in the garden centre thinking to / replicate Hughes’ exercise for Plath about / the Yew Tree
talking wormhole: Cocktails in 1951
time wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
twilight wormhole: good going into / that gentle night
water wormhole: all the sandstone / reflections in the / marble-blue troughs
writing wormhole: found

 

looking back over the tack / and jibe of my life I / notice there is / a fetch // after all … / but certainly not / where I had planned / or where I thought / I’d been

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                looking back over the tack
                     and jibe of my life I
                          notice there is
                               a fetch

                I stand too much to attention
                     too alert to notice
                          where I am

                I reach far too far to get
                     that I cannot have
                          what I am

                I eat too much to treat me
                     and deaden
                          what I need

                I exercised too much and
                     stretched the ligaments
                          that contain all my effort

                I exercise too little now to realise
                     the strength I have
                          untapped

                I have studied too much to
                     know what I think
                          or feel

                                    after all …
                                         but certainly not
                                              where I had planned
                                                   or where I thought
                                                        I’d been

 

 

 

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

attention wormhole: looking ahead
being & life wormhole: passing
doing & thinking wormhole: circuitry
identity wormhole: immeasurable love
living wormhole: addictive
study wormhole: reading // unstirred

 

buttercups

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                on a Sunday
                watching cricket
                take itself too
                seriously listening
                to children
                chasing games
                until a twig is
                in someone’s face
                … thank
                goodness for the

                buttercups

 

 

 

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

listening wormhole: Cocktails in 1951
Sunday wormhole: in the Java ‘n’ Jazz

 

passing

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                the lifetime
                of events of
                passing people
                is in length of
                thigh and
                unavoidable
                step of place

 

 

 

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

being wormhole: Coleton Fishacre
life wormhole: Pilot 125 … // … being excursion in the interludes
passing wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
people wormhole: dream I // dream II

 

Coleton Fishacre

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                Coleton Fishacre

                “When every blessed thing you hold
                  is made of silver … you long for
                  simple pewter”

                silver degenerating
                like an acid scar
                in the bulbous mirror

                “If a man can’t forge
                  his own will whose will
                  can he forge”, apocryphal

                architecturalisation of
                the will to being (molded
                in reproduction)

 

 

 

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

being wormhole: amid
Have wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
mirror wormhole: in verse / question / m a r k ?
silver wormhole: between
speech wormhole: at table 21 in the garden centre thinking to / replicate Hughes’ exercise for Plath about / the Yew Tree

 

snapshots about Totnes

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                snapshots about Totnes

                girl with legs and shorts
                looks at me with lintels

                roadside wall holds mauve
                flower and steppe of land

                door-line out of street with
                hill by access ramp and rail

                kid hangs from the playship
                prow almost fell mum’s

                friend on the bench points
                her foot but doesn’t smile

 

 

 

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

bench wormhole: Day Out
child wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
doors wormhole: red / lacquer / door
girl wormhole: reating & wriding
looking wormhole: Pilot 125 … // … being excursion in the interludes
mauve wormhole: immeasurable love
streets wormhole: city streets
walls wormhole: slightly / uphill

 

looking ahead

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                                                looking ahead

                at 18 he peered frightened and gentle –
                the high forehead and round jaw of all
                his youth, but that his mouth held duty

                faintly pursed on the left, in reserve and
                to attention, although the epaulettes were
                (the wings of a choirboy) – at the strips

                and strips of field and fields of umber
                and sienna and the deepest darkest green,
                as high as the land was wide, and it was

                wide, to the white-washed house perched
                on the higher horizon flanked by European
                cypresses, at home in the fields; at three

                she looked above the horizon, hair in all
                direction to the sky, the purse to the left,
                in attention and wan smile from above

                the ruffled dress (soon to be outgrown with
                every crumple-ene); the medals were worn
                on the left side, the eyes up to the right;

                they stood together to attention, in profile
                before the wet facades of eleventh hour,
                eyes forward, eyes down, pursed and still

 

three photographs in the house of an old friend: her father when newly enrolled in the army shortly before World War II – he served in Africa; herself in her then-best dress in the very early 1960s; father and daughter standing on a wet street collecting for Remembrance Day …

 

 

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

20th century wormhole: ‘God, who am I …?’
attention & smile wormhole: dear Lucy
daughter wormhole: mother and daughter
eyes wormhole: addictive
father & lifetimes wormhole: granny
field wormhole: walk from Castleton to Hope
green & white wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
hair wormhole: immeasurable love
horizon wormhole: Bexhill 140215
house wormhole: slightly / uphill
mouth wormhole: over-pink cagoule
sky wormhole: low afternoon
war wormhole: memorial

 

granny

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                granny
                tried tangerine jelly with her

                but she weren’t having none of that with a
                cheeky grin

                mum and dad
                finshed theirs quite quick with a few exchanges

                packed up the chair and whirred off
                granny looked back

                and returned to stack the plates and cups on the tray
                with a lifetime’s

                push up of bottom lip with each place-
                ment

 

 

 

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

father wormhole: out
lifetimes & mother wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211