the inevitable tock // when we close our eyes

Tags

2022, 20th century, 8*, afternoon, banshee, blood, blue, brown, capitalism, Carol, childhood, dream, eyes, faces, fields, garden, gold, growing, history, landscape, life, maelstrom, measure, mist, object, objectification, orange, plane, production, sapphire, sky, sound, space, storm, summer, sweet, time, whorl, World War I

                                                the inevitable tock

                        this queasy land
                        life out of time, this dreamscape
                        with waist-high mist

and then a uni-prop dhrined straight across the sky one endless summer gardenoon

                        made a whorl
                        brown and bloody fields
                        and jar-sweet marmalade

                        wherein history appeared
                        as proliferated objects
                        space now only a measure

                        the face appears
                        in the eye of the storm
                        tarnished blue and palsy

                        measuring gossamer gold
                        between always-contestable markers
                        from an impossible sapphire cap

                        only retrospectively glimpsed now
                        as screaming banshees
                        back in the maelstrom

when we close our eyes

time by Carol Redford; used with permission – thank you

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

20th century wormhole: the reach turned to love
afternoon & Carol & garden & sky & time wormhole: time
blue & gold & life wormhole: Journey
brown & capitalism wormhole: travel // when I die
childhood wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – An Old Piano
dream wormhole: Candaka
eyes wormhole: Four Noble Truths
faces wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – valley
fields wormhole: ‘and is there homage …’
history wormhole: the simple prayer // the tattered poem // the bitter lament
mist wormhole: taking birth
orange wormhole: nowhere / that can be seen
sound wormhole: long / road
space wormhole: under the blue and blue sky
storm wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Sky
summer wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Rain

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PASTORAL by William Carlos Williams

Tags

1917, 6*, age, blue, breathing, colour, compromise, fence, furniture, green, growing, houses, identity, looking, love, measure, poverty, progress, rooftops, society, streets, time, walking, weather, William Carlos Williams, yard

                                PASTORAL

                When I was younger
                it was plain to me
                I must make something of myself.
                Older now
                I walk back streets
                admiring the houses
                of the very poor:
                roof out of line with sides
                the yeards cluttered
                with old chicken wire, ashes,
                furniture gone wrong;
                the fences and outhouses
                built of barrel-staves
                and parts of boxes, all,
                if I am fortunate,
                smeared a bluish green
                that properly weathered
                pleases me best
                of all colors.

                            No one
                will believe this
                of vast import to the nation.

 

from Al Que Quiere!, 1917

and he’s right, of course: the ‘import’ of the nation can only progress when it doesn’t have to concern itself with the right and wrong of wealth distribution – but you can’t have progress without competition, otherwise we all just stay where we are; but honouring competition as inviolable is honouring that which is our basest common denominator, surely inequality is less than we could achieve – to try to rise above the process of evolution, the survival of the fittest, is, rather, to surrender to hubris and daydream which doesn’t put bread on the table; but – however; eventually – man up … but to look, and take in, with love and, without scheme, all behind the, dappling cacophany, with which we, mark our height, where we can breathe, without implication, or compromise, free as a glance, single as an ethic, and twice as, selfless

 

 

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

blue wormhole: transferring
breathing wormhole: the turtle and the yoke
compromise wormhole: and ‘naerrgh’ a mention of a seagull’s call
green & identity & time & walking wormhole: fifty-eight // and silent prayers
looking wormhole: perspective
love wormhole: all // are // none
rooftops wormhole: glancing up from the text / searching for ground …
society & streets wormhole: both modern and en-slaved / to life
William Carlos Williams wormhole: and that’s where I are

 

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 …”

 

quite … / … yet – poewieview #12

Tags

1968, 2016, awkward, being, Bowie, childhood, doing, face, growing, identity, life, living, meaning, resolution, rhyme, rhythm, speech, talking to myself, warp, weft, words

                                                              `snot good enough cos I
                                                              `mnot old enough t`see                           `ow
                                              th’ wryme ‘n’ th’ whrythm’s wrought
                                              `tween `scend ing warp ‘n’
                                mended weft with
                                me errant word or me gloonfy face

                quite …
… yet

 

I don’t know how to what saying … London Bye Ta-Ta, 1968; When I’m Five, 1968; Ching A Ling, 1968; The Mask, 1968 … yet?

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

 

 

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

being & living & meaning wormhole: seventy two, perhaps – poewieview #9
Bowie wormhole: organ / sunlight in all our eyes – poewieview #11
childhood wormhole: 1963
doing wormhole: crescendoeing cascade of chordage – poewieview #10
identity wormhole: ‘my best writing happens …’
life wormhole: 1966 … actually sic // of it allllll-bsssssssh – poewieview #8
speech wormhole: really
talking to myself wormhole: when writing // stay
words wormhole: London Hearts – poewieview #4

 

Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 290508 – / the breath of London

Tags

2008, 2014, 6*, age, birdsong, blackbird, boy, breath, buildings, Canary Wharf, cars, child, chimney, crane, distance, dog, downhill, Eaglesfield Road, Eglinton Hill, eyes, garden, grey, growing, hands, hedge, hill, identity, light, London, morning, mother, mouth, passing, pavement, Plum Lane, Plumstead, posture, Powis Street, red, river, shadow, sky, smoke, speech, starlings, step, streets, time, truck, Victorian houses, walking, Woolwich

 

 

 

                           Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 290508 –
                           the breath of London

                           the four storey station at the top of the hill
                           once housed fire engines high on their tyres
                           all buffed red and waiting behind folding doors
                           are flats now; while up by the chimneys a blackbird
                           sings various songs as the cars pass variegated
                           along in the quiet morning light under low grey sky

                           Victorian houses stand four dimensions wide
                           and chimney flue and pipework deep are also flats
                           as starlings fight without let without resolve
                           in the overgrown privacy in front the front garden
                           when the loading crane on the building supply
                           truck lurches wrenching over the speed hump

                           downhill two young boys stalk around the front garden
                           perched on the brick pillars by the steep pavement
                           and Canary Wharf tower has new buildings around it
                           like slow plumes of smoke from a distance; forty years
                           now and my shadow is still stumpy walking before
                           me and my left ear still sticks out noticeably …

                           when the hill turns flat we walk by the water reading
                           hoardings announcing Woolwich re-generation
                           along Powis Street where the child veers along
                           in a straight line c’mere darlin’ c’mere ‘cos I can’t
                           ‘andle that when you ignore me, you know I can’t
                           ‘andle that darlin’ … doosyatold … get off

                           walking the dog white trainers hat back jaw out eyes
                           half-closed mouth slightly open – seen – hand out
                           thumb loose seven steps grasp hold while the greeting
                           happen huugg! – ‘the road is long …’; there, bellies out
                           hanging some pregnant one hanging and pregnant
                           striped tank-top still with ponytail but about my age

                           “I will step – ” slight push heel up left foot swing
                           w-i-d-e from right leg shoulder twist evenly in step
                           alternately arms out “ – because this is all I have to
                           show f’m’self”; truck: “A tool for every job” teeth
                           too big for his mouth mouthing at the young mothers
                           pushing their buggies before him as he changes gear

 

 

 

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

blackbird wormhole: afternoon 290613
breath wormhole: plethora: the Dark Knight Strikes Again (2002)
buildings & streets & time wormhole: ‘anyway / is it all just / a dream?’
cars wormhole: bass and piano
child wormhole: letters to Mum V – carrying on in duty and love
chimney & garden wormhole: corroboration
crane wormhole: letters to Mum I – a walk / and talk
dog wormhole: the retriever the daughter and the mother
Eglinton Hill & light & Plumstead & shadow wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich 121114
eyes wormhole: I need to keep my eyes open / in meditation
grey & London wormhole: 1967
hands wormhole: Dr Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street
hedge wormhole: oh-pen too
identity wormhole: yet another sprain / of ‘Jingle Bells’ straining / to propagate yet another / tired Christmas spirit – … / ‘sanner clawsis coming t’ taunn – yeah’ in a / coffee shop with condensation / running off the snowflake transfers / and the iphone at the next table / talking how 50 means 900 a month – not worth / the drive (left his scarf behind – / collateral) … about my age
morning & Woolwich wormhole: hint
mother wormhole: Dr Strange III – the needs of billions
mouth wormhole: the Avengers
passing wormhole: smiling
posture wormhole: – sigh! –
red wormhole: a light rosé
river wormhole: capes flying
sky wormhole: the Last Day of Morecambe Illuminations
speech wormhole: ‘“Never,” said the Sandman; / he blinked …’
Victorian houses: deepening with each step
walking wormhole: knees

 

day off

Tags

2013, 6*, attention, cleaning, doing, fear, flower, growing, guitar, hope, house, jam, reading, sandwich, self-compassion, talking to myself, writing

 

 

 

                                                              day off

                you could write a piece that quietly chords
                                a lost decade
                or you could play Solitaire and unbelieving
                                lose $5000

                you could read a hundred pages of the most
                                beautiful word
                or play the guitar-line weary in your head again
                                again

                you could clean a house transparent in which to smell
                                a flower
                or fix another jam sandwich to chew over
                                old exchanges but

                whatever you do in hope and whatever you don’t do
                                in fear never
                never let it all slip from your almost-not-watching
                                parent-attention

 

 

 

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

attention wormhole: waiting room
doing wormhole: ‘like a piece of ice on a hot stove / the poem must ride on its own melting’
guitar wormhole: b / l / u / e / s / at a right-angle
house wormhole: tag cloud poem IV – C
reading wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot
talking to myself wormhole: poessay VII: // true revolution
writing wormhole: I could step / more open

 

tag cloud poem II – acceptance

Tags

2014, 4*, acceptance, afternoon, air, allowing, anxiety, attention, awareness, compassion, growing, shamatha-vipashyana, tag cloud poem

 

 

 

                                    acceptance

 
                                                          of all the afternoon air
                                                          allowing all the attendant anxiety coupled
                                    with precise  attention and
awareness wide as the sky

 

 

 

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

acceptance wormhole: again
afternoon wormhole: … still waving!
air wormhole: good / enough
allowing wormhole: stop
anxiety wormhole: breathe, be / and sit still
attention wormhole: rhetorical inevitability inexorable in both immanent dissipation & implicit effulgence
awareness wormhole: let
compassion wormhole: only
shamatha-vipashyana wormhole: not that close
tag cloud poem wormhole: tag cloud poem I – numbers