{Ellen Terry’s house}

Tags

'scape, 2017, 4*, birds, church, death, Ellen Terry, eyes, light, listening, sound, time, trees, windows, wood

                {Ellen Terry’s house}

                                there are
                slanting shafts of light
                and death mask eyes
                      closed

 

                                     there is
rifling through papers in wooden
drawers somewhere at the back of
      the church

 

                                                                    while
                                birds cheep in the trees alternate
                                and outside and either side of
                                      plain windows

 

… both was, and is, Smallhythe Place

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

birds & church wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
death wormhole: Pilot 125 … // … being excursion in the interludes
eyes wormhole: to arms, then;
light wormhole: turned backs of saddened victory
listening wormhole: green and / luminant / to behold
sound & trees wormhole: where did the silence go
time wormhole: perspective
windows wormhole: the turtle and the yoke
wood wormhole: St. Edmund’s / Parish Church / Castleton

 

Advertisements

Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211

Tags

2011, 2014, 2017, 6*, architecture, birds, birdsong, blackbird, blue, branches, breathing, brick, bus, cars, change, child, childhood, church, coat, coffee, coffee shop, crane, crows, death, echo, Eglinton Hill, evening, football, friends, green, handshake, Have, hill, houses, lifetimes, light, looking, mother, Mum, newsagent, no effort, notice, passing, pigeons, Plumstead, Plumstead common, quiet, roads, smiling, sound, step, streets, Thames, thought, time, trees, voices, walking, white, windows, Woolwich

        Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211

        the crane holds effortlessly over from behind
        the houses and trees cables thrumming always
        cold and eventually it will all be dismantled;

        the diesel car purred slowly downhill, a pigeon
        dropped down behind it walked around a bit;
        through the leaf-clean branches of the young

        tree the Edwardian cornices and tops along
        Plumstead Common Road, don’t collect thoughts,
        t a s t e them without notice, deep and wet

        with no tice – much less effort – while walking,
        every once in a while the wall steps up a brick
        I search for being clear again … step, while

        walking stop, and breathe the beauty, stop
        and smile a little thought for you; in St. Mary
        Magdalene’s ground the mother has turned

        points to the trees, birds fly off and land, the
        toddler steps and stands among the pigeons
        while the mother brings the abandoned scooter

        but then in New Road holding the handshake
        shaking between exchange the firm friends
        look at each other only occasionally; while he

        he Had a coffee heated sandwich iced bun
        crisps water £8.89, busses passing bulbous
        over the dark green and hanging shade; up

        the hill on the coldstreet stepping downhill
        out the newsagent the bright blue padded
        jacket and the single bounce of a well-inflated

        basketball with simultaneous echo inside; the
        while on a wall opposite his Mum’s flat dead
        almost 12 years now watching a boy with a limp

        and the 53 bus working between parked cars
        and the crossing island with air suspension
        and when it was quiet the dark coat and white

        trainers crossed the road paused and into the
        newsagents but then I didn’t see where she
        went; the constant echo of boys’ voices playing

        football on Plumstead Common off Acacia
        Terrace 1890; and I can’t see 46 Eglinton Hill
        where I’m sat, conifers grow so quick, but

        `doesn’t matter, I can’t see the blackbird singing
        a different collect each time either; crows on the
        chimneys of 40/38; for a minute the blackbird

        stopped no vehicles uphill downhill, lights
        went on across the river and each house had
        the face of lifetimes in their windows;

 

Every year and a while I travel 40 miles up to Woolwich, where I grew up, to check that the journey I make started off in the write direction (HA!); while wandering I write, leaning on peoples’ front walls and making a coffee last in a cafe (and every once in a while I treat myself to an afternoon bench); walking downhill from Plumstead to Woolwich and around and back, in time; those who know Woolwich and Plumstead (all none of you across the world wide, as far as I can tell, although you have got Google maps, if you’re really interested) will [be able to] recognise as they appear: South Circular coming up to Well Hall roundabout, Eglinton Hill [childhood home], Plumstead Common Road, St Mary Magdelene’s Church, Woolwich New Road, [along A206], Waverley Crescent (top of Griffin Road), Plumstead Common (proper), back up Eglinton Hill …

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

architecture wormhole: pen and ruler
birds wormhole: open window
blackbird & change wormhole: relief
blue wormhole: low afternoon
branches wormhole: between
breathing & coffee shop & evening & sound & time & windows wormhole: amid
bus wormhole: Mark & Jon at the coffee shop III
cars & green & trees wormhole: Cocktails in 1951
child & streets wormhole: red / lacquer / door
childhood wormhole: all the sandstone / reflections in the / marble-blue troughs
church wormhole: ‘someone …’
coffee wormhole: Mark & Jon at the coffee shop I
crane wormhole: Luton // couldn’t make a poem out of it
crows wormhole: the ancient tree
death & light & Mum wormhole: good going into / that gentle night
echo wormhole: circuitry
Eglinton Hill & Plumstead wormhole: lost and city ground
Have & looking wormhole: found
lifetimes wormhole: cape and cowl
mother wormhole: mother and daughter
passing & roads & leaves wormhole: leaves
pigeons wormhole: municipal garden
quiet wormhole: the quiet whale
Thames wormhole: to rescue something
thought wormhole: ‘God, who am I …?’
voices wormhole: I keep / waiting to be discovered and get lost in anticipation
walking wormhole: cinnamon / milkshake
Woolwich wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams

 

open window

Tags

'scape, 2013, 5*, birds, birdsong, blue, echo, houses, open, passing, quiet, sky, snow, sound, streets, sun, time, trees, windows

                open window

                in the quiet street
                sun shone against
                the sides of houses

                and began to melt
                the dust of snow,
                at length,

                soft steps pass –
                foot-scrape and
                trouser-scuff – then

                cough once twice
                in upper voice
                down the houses

                and it was only then
                that the birds called
                in different ways

                in different trees and
                all of which echoed
                down the blue blue sky

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

birds wormhole: Is There / Life on Mars? – poewieview #32
birdsong wormhole: relief
blue & quiet & sky & sound & windows wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
echo wormhole: this aching // and spacious dichotomy
open wormhole: fine
passing wormhole: to allow / passage
snow wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
streets wormhole: familiasyncopation
sun wormhole: 1964
time wormhole: alighted
trees wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Follow Your Nose

 

Is There / Life on Mars? – poewieview #32

Tags

'scape, 1999, 5*, birds, Bowie, branches, chirp, east, grey, growing, leaves, life, Mars, sky, sunset, tin

                                Is There
                                Life on Mars?

                      new leaves
                      on new branches
                      grown

                      sideways and pointing
                      east

                      through the old
                      branches the sun

                      sets
                      polishing the tin sky
                      otherwise

                      seamlessly grey and the birds
                      chirp

 

sky as high as the world – Life on Mars?

Read the collected movements in David Bowie: Movements in Suite Major

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

birds wormhole: the ancient tree
Bowie wormhole: Life on Mars? – poewieview #31
branches wormhole: reaching branch
grey & life wormhole: carpet worn / to the backing – poewieview #30
leaves wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] by Mark L. Redford – moment
sky wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – On Doing Nothing
sunset wormhole: “walking …”

 

the ancient tree

Tags

2012, birds, branches, crows, education, educational behaviourism, magpies, measure, performance management, time, trunk, value-bled education

 

 

 

                      once upon a quarter century
                      the beat and heart of teaching
                           thousands of birds
                           through all time
                           come to the ancient tree
                      was quantified immeasurably
                      inverse to a fading quality
                           generations now of
                           magpies and crows
                           who bring dispute
                           and change and sit
                           in the tree making
                           loud noises
                      all the better to make the numbers rise and fall my dear
                      consistency and behaviour to within an inch of its life
                           droppings in the branches
                           droppings down the trunk

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

birds wormhole: Jon
branches wormhole: like ink – poewieview #23
crows wormhole: ‘in the midst of winter …’
education wormhole: new year’s eve 2014; train up to London to / walk the bridges across the Thames, and / listen to the voices say it is, and was, like, / but get back home before the fireworks / obliterate it all in the emptying twilight
performance management wormhole: the MagOO Effect Effect
time wormhole: Doctor Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street

 

Jon

Tags

2015, birch, birds, blue, father, grey, Jon, nose, outside, silhouette, silver, sky, son, trees, woodland, work

                                              Jon

                                              but
                                he was right
                to take the Old Dog out to the woods
                                after work
                                shut me out a little
                                while he forages for something or other

                                              while
                                I lean among the silver birch
                                and join the birds with
                cold ears and running nose and greet the blueing sky
                                cold grey and held with silhouettes

 

Jon is my second son; he practises foraging for naturally available foods and sometimes takes me out if I look like I need it …

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

birch & silver wormhole: and that’s where I are
birds wormhole: suddenly fly off again
blue wormhole: first Spring storm
father wormhole: mauve
grey wormhole: up on the hill
Jon wormhole: Luisenplatz
silhouette wormhole: keep the light off
sky wormhole: tabla
trees wormhole: red ink
work wormhole: through

 

suddenly fly off again

Tags

2014, birds, conservatory, depression, flying, letting go, roof, sound

 

 

 

                           “low moods
                come like birds on the roof”
                           they step
                           and scrape about
                           pecking at
                           the moss
                and throwing it clump on the conservatory
                           roof will
                           they damag:-
                suddenly fly off again

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

birds wormhole: up here
conservatory wormhole: I do
depression wormhole: poessay X: soul love – poewieview #2
letting go wormhole: no point
roof wormhole: … the discipline of shamatha / the waft of vipashyana
sound wormhole: ‘the hour before dinner – / the empire of dusk’ – poewieview #6

 

up here

Tags

'scape, 1970, 1972, 2015, architecture, birds, buildings, cars, city, clouds, eyes, Gil Kane, identity, John Romita, knowledge, life, light, moon, people, perspective, presumption, rooftops, Roy Thomas, searching, seeing, shops, sky, skyline, society, sound, speech, Spiderman, Stan Lee, step, streets, thinking, time, venetian blinds, vertical, walking, walls, windows, years

                                deep down
                in the streets light can only be noticed
                between step and event all the while slogans
                are shouting high and huddled to the
                                              receding
                                              rooftops

                                but the streets
                can be taken sideways (from third floor up) with
                panned vista of skyline for all to see; me, I crouch at right angles
                to the depth-rise of sky-plummet
                                              searching
                                              for the

                                (pinnacles
                amid stacks of façade discerned by ledge and cornice
                sheer sides with no purchase beautiful for all their …
                                              stark
                                              knowledge)

                                I find ways in,
                over rather than through, the vertical line
                that makes architecture wide such that up can only reach higher
                                              the better
                                              for me
                                              to arc

                                impossible
                through all manner of event
                and despite all presumption – birds flattering in all
                                              direction –

                                up here
                among the sooty stacks
                I know my footing up sides of wall
                while those below stand scattered about the ground
                                              pointing

                                up here
                                on the stack
                birds make their way in occasional formation despite cloud
                and measure, where on the ground there is no parking despite time
                                              from
                                              high

                                up here
                people walk the streets like filings
                still warm from the splinter but magnetised in damaged clumps
                they let the lonely antennae do all the
                                              tensile
                                              thinking

                                thinking
                                thoughts
                are best done above the storeyline, clung to the outside, lean and breathtaken
                (otherwise they get flabby) the angle always far better
                                              as nadir

                                rooftops
                higher than most are perspectives in which to dress
                that allow vault and flagpole-spring to one façade or another
                whilst people stand around at parties, their backs to the windows, unaware
                                              of their own
                                              identities

                                I will walk
                up to the window below, cars parked variously on the street,
                stacks of elegant housing ignore the open-air caught and struggle with
                                              venetian
                                              eyes

                                the up-
                                rumble
                of the city may be constant but only noticeable
                when strangled, oh, where is the moon waiting below rooftops
                to make shop fronts blind and apartments
                                              contemplative?

 

plucked in passing overhead from the pages of Spider-Man #90-113 (November 1970 – October 1972), written by Stan Lee & Roy Thomas; drawn by Gil Kane and John Romita

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

architecture & buildings & people & seeing & sky wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
1972 wormhole: 1972
birds wormhole: purpose
cars & walking wormhole: “King …”
city wormhole: events happen / through all measure of name
clouds wormhole: hot summer / morning
eyes & sound & walls & windows wormhole: Jackie’s slight smile
identity & thinking & time wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
knowledge wormhole: the Apple
life & speech wormhole: out side of the writing / lodge
moon wormhole: tag cloud poem VIII – growth
rooftops wormhole: sight / seeing
searching & streets wormhole: Dionne Warwick
shops & society & years wormhole: 1959
skyline wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
venetian blids wormhole: 1963

 

purpose

Tags

2015, Alan Moore, being, birds, black, clouds, dark, doing, echo, Eddie Campbell, From Hell, inside, journey, life, listening, love, outside, passing, purpose, sound, time, waiting, walking, windows

                                                                                                            purpose

                           the journey to outside doesn’t begin
                           and doesn’t get anywhere but waits

                           and eventually sees the plumes sufficient
                           to every bird that passes in flight if you but

                           listen to the drips the shifts and echoes all
                           around in the long tunnel; if unheard a cry

                           of love will stay inside enveloped
                           in the dark around a window or under a throne

                           the dark around the brother’s corpse – not
                           his own – the misshapen head amid the dark

                           not ‘worfipped’ and all the blackness can
                           so easily be made imbecilic; the two men walk

                           to the distance little wondering that
                           there is only half of height of age below the clouds

 

askance from chapter two of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell

a little snippet from askance From Hell, askance from chapter ten of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell, gwn’n’avvalook

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

Alan Moore & black & doing & echo & life & windows wormhole: events happen / through all measure of name
being wormhole: start where you are I
birds wormhole: lobby
clouds & passing & time & walking wormhole: September – silhouette of leaf // the / inside and the / outside
listening wormhole: crumpled / notebooks / at the end of a gentle retreat
love wormhole: Woolwich Central – making life better II
sound wormhole: ‘the old chair rocked …’
waiting wormhole: 1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012

 

lobby

Tags

2013, being, birds, birdsong, curtains, doing, evening, houses, living, morning, openness, sky, sound, streets, sun, windows, writing

 

 

 

                      the curtain half pulled from the attack of the sun
                           this morning

                      the sun-fallen sky in the windows mournful
                           opposite

                      the birds singing their networks still
                           nevertheless

                      and the open window the evening mowing and the
                           lifted curtain

                      all lobby me that I haven’t wasted the day in
                           nocuous

                      activity amid the heart-stopping creation of writing
                           about it all

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being & doing wormhole: re lax // me
birds wormhole: the long road
curtains wormhole: Jean Miller kissed Salinger
evening wormhole: the Last Day of Morecambe Illuminations
houses wormhole: deepening with each step
living wormhole: sometimes
morning wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 290508 – / the breath of London
openness wormhole: I could step / more open
sky & windows wormhole: great underbelly to the rooftops
sound wormhole: dawn
streets wormhole: Kirby’s landscapes
sun wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich 121114
writing wormhole: the silent night of the Batman