tag cloud poem IX – haiku is awkward / the more that is left in / like uncombed hair

Tags

2015, bay window, Crowborough, economics, emptiness, eyes, haiku, hair, hands, Have, hedge, Herbert Road, hills, Hillside, history, horizon, hotel, house, humanity, life, London, rooftops, Shooters Hill, sight, society, tag cloud poem, terrace, Thames, time

                                                     haiku   is awkward

   the more that is left in

     like uncombed  hair

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                            the hands that Have   are

 
                                                    small and gnarly that hedge a                
                                                        fund and close their eyes;

 
                                                my sight formed along
                                          rooflines of Herbert Road edged
                                                           above the distant hills

 
                                beyond the river
from terraced steppes along the
     declining line of

 
                                                      Shooters Hill; but then

                  my sights folded inwards at

                                                                   Hillside, pages of

 
                                                              turned history that had

                                lost its own horizon, from

                                                                                                            hotel to house in

 
                              the bay windows of
                              London where humanity
                                                                              is stuck in all time

 

‘aitches’ touch on quite a few boat-ties to my past: ‘Herbert Road’ was the local shopping high street where I lived in London until I was 19; it is in Plumstead which spreads south over the crest of ‘Shooters Hill’ and merges into Woolwich down to the river Thames; ‘Hillside’ is one of a little cluster of houses where I settled to raise a family and grow a career in Crowborough in the late 1980s – that same 80s that, mean-and-all-the-while, Thatcher was creaking open that casket (‘can’t read the label – “–ora’s Box”?’) which left me alien to my own background and lost in my own riverbank mist, save for the miraculous peek of haiku and the deadened gaze of bay window …

`haven’t published a tag cloud poem in a while: they’re made up of the larger tags of my work built up over the years – this one emerged into a series of haiku[esque] pieces of work – almost inevitably; this one was particularly difficult to form, the tag-words didn’t run off each other smoothly – I must admit I left a few words out; the green links are to those respective tags, the different sized fonts determined by the number of ‘topics’ that pertain to that tab … nerk!

 

 

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

Crowborough wormhole: portrait: / two pigeons
economics wormhole: 1959
emptiness wormhole: need
eyes wormhole: bavardage
haiku[esque] wormhole: ‘green plum jam on rye …’
hair wormhole: impressionism
hands & humanity wormhole: Doctor Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street
Have wormhole: Nostalgia for Samsara – poewieview #16
hedge wormhole: where the goblins leered – poewieview #14
Herbert Road wormhole: bottom of Herbert Road to the / foot of Eglinton Hill dream
hills wormhole: life [‘n’ death] / legerdemain – poewieview #15
Hillside wormhole: Charlotte
history & horizon wormhole: a theremin note – poewieview #21
hotel wormhole: Hotel Room, 1931
house wormhole: first Spring storm
life & society wormhole: no one – poewieview #24
London & rooftops & Thames wormhole: up on the hill
tag cloud poem wormhole: tag cloud poem VIII – growth
time wormhole: 1968

 

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bottom of Herbert Road to the / foot of Eglinton Hill dream

Tags

2013, abandonment, childhood, dream, Eglinton Hill, eyes, fear, girl, Herbert Road, houses, identity, looking, love, muse, power, spell, thought, windows

 

 

 

                                bottom of Herbert Road to the
                                foot of Eglinton Hill dream

                                              girl of my child
                hood reached to take my wallet as I
                                contemplated houses
                                              in the window
                                              I grabbed her wrist
                                righteous to justice you’re coming with me
                                              I won’t get fooled again
                                but with no design she
                                                              looked up
                                              to me the fear that even I
                                                              would hate her and leave her
                                                              without power – the only thing she had and I
                                                                                                            I fell in love
                                                                                 with those eyes
                                                              and those shoulders –
                                              the spell cast
                                yet again

 

 

 

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

abandonment & Eglinton Hill wormhole: just words wiped across a line
childhood wormhole: relapse
dream wormhole: Dr Strange VII – the madness of Mordo
eyes & love wormhole: the dash is magnificent / the shadow grotesque
girl wormhole: tag cloud poem VIII – growth
Herbert Road wormhole: Christmas
houses wormhole: the lines are not that straight / after all
identity & looking & power wormhole: between
muse wormhole: knees
thought wormhole: under silent direction of architecture
windows wormhole: after the storm

 

Christmas

Tags

'scape, 1979, 6*, Batman, carlights, childhood, Christmas, eyes, gold, green, Herbert Road, iron, orange, puddle, snow, streetlight, time, wind

 

 

 

                                   Christmas

                                   short eyes: orange
                                   street lamps
                                   iron puddles

                                   soon eyes:
                                   winking
                                   car lights 4:30

                                   smart eyes:
                                   papers
                                   brush the ankles

                                   crown eyes:
                                   golden paper and
                                   green eyes

                                   arching eyes:
                                   reindeer’s eyes
                                   Batman’s eyes

                                   coat of snow
                                   crate of sharp eyes
                                   cradle

 

 

 

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

Batman wormhole: never there
childhood wormhole: glass
Christmas 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
eyes & time wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 290508 – / the breath of London
gold wormhole: across the room / through the patio doors / through the conservatory windows / at the bottom of the garden / the still bifurcated trunk of / the oak / before the let-grown hair and fringes / of the fir tree / blown every lifetime in a while by the winter sun // actually
green wormhole: Matildenplatz / & Luisen
Herbert Road wormhole: still there?
orange wormhole: Luisenplatz
snow wormhole: bass and piano
streetlight wormhole: the Last Day of Morecambe Illuminations
wind wormhole: no cars / no planes

 

still there?

Tags

2012, 6*, black, buildings, childhood, Eglinton Hill, Genesta Road, green, Herbert Road, olive, Plumstead, rust, time, white

 

 

 

                           where has it gone
                           the three cannon barrels
                           and the lion’s head
                           in thick rusting metal
                           painted plumstead
                           green on the corner of
                           Genesta Road making
                           my way up Eglinton Hill
                           is it to do with telephones
                           can I try to sit on it
                           where has it gone

                           because the tiled curve
                           of building on the corner
                           of Herbert Road and
                           Eglinton Road with
                           black frame and plumstead
                           green inlay around the black
                           white chequered inset to:

                            H.J. WEBB
                                      L^TD.
                            GROCERS
                                            AND
                            PROVISION
                            MERCHANTS

                           onto olive background is still there?

 

 

 

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

black wormhole: clouds
buildings wormhole: wha’
childhood & Plumstead & time wormhole: still there // above the / Dallin Road / allotments / looking high over the river and the city
Eglinton Hill wormhole: dream / 150599
Genesta Road wormhole: from the / bedroom / window
green & white wormhole: mlewisredford introductory complete life audit confessional
Herbert Road wormhole: … still waving!
olive wormhole: in verse / question / m a r k ?

 

… still waving!

Tags

2007, 2014, 8*, afternoon, bedroom, brown, cars, cigar, Dad, death, dog, doing, family, field, fingers, green, hedge, Herbert Road, house, kitchen, letter, life, lifetimes, mirror, muse, olive, painting, rain, Ramsden Heath, red, roof, seeing, shadow, silence, smile, streets, time, trees, uncle, walking, wind, windows, wood, yellow

a salute to my Uncle Mick (1935 – 2007) who lived with great gust through the trees and great dark-wood texture for most of his life in Ramsden Heath, Essex, quietly, with a smile

 

 

 

                                          Dear Dad

                           it was good to see you on such a sad day
            Mick would have been satisfied that we had come together as family again
                           whether he was there or not

                           I wandered in his house a little to say goodbye
                                          and to see if there was anything I wanted to take
                                          to remember him I didn’t take anything
            I might have taken endless bits
                                          awkwardly
                           or I had to realise that all my time with him
                                          had happened thirty years ago already passed that I cannot hold onto
            I have to say goodbye to him
                                          with gratitude
                                          to recognise what he gave to my life
                                                              and to the world
                           a more complete tribute
            than trying to hold onto all the bits and pieces

                                                              all those people who attended the ceremony
                                          all pulled together by eye and staple
                           the perfect meet of frame and circumstance*

                                          Mick taught me to see
                           the colour of oil in a lamp
                                                              the deep colour of port through a green bottle
                                          the deepest green of holly and laurel
                           the shadows under border shrubs

                                                              I learnt to smell hedgerows
                                          while walking too fast past them
                                          I listened to the ancientness
                           of horse and leather and dogs
            I creaked the chairs and drew the wood and linen of pubs closed
                                                              to the rain-slatter of the afternoon

                           I envied his example – the lesson – the nobility of action
                           translucent gallantry and service to anyone who was around –
            it was not too much to go out into the kitchen and make everyone a round of sandwiches when every one couldn’t be bothered –
                                          quiet and strong

                           I remember
            Ringo** lifted up to head height so that he could see himself in the mirror
                                          (he didn’t notice, but looked at the floor)
                           I remember the canary-yellow sports car parked in the field
                                                              away from Nan’s annoyance

                                          and the draw of a cigar slightly moist yet
                                                              with light brown wrapping and deep brown leaf –
            he was completely arrived when he held that cigar gently between jointed fingers –
                           and the crawling out of a bedroom window right along the roof of the outhouses
                           to get THE shot in a water fight during a too hot day
            and the magic – the alchemy – showing me how to paint the image of a tree
                                          with oils – a stroke and a dab-smudge in the wind
                                          you ‘suggest’ the shape rather than create it –
                           the single detail he painted on the mantelpiece in his sitting room
                                                                                              olive green
            the near-tearful goodbyes when the visit came to an end waving until we were out of sight –
                                                              he’s still waving!

                           he once showed me annoyance
                                          when he stopped me walking straight across a side street in Herbert Road
                                          without checking I was a little stunned
                                                              but enormously honoured that he thought it was important

                           I probably only saw him
                           for forty days in my life
            but he has coloured my world as indelibly as oil paint
                                                              (suggested not created)
                           I saw great loss in your face and your shoulders today
                                          Dad
                           but please please look at all the colour and texture
                                          in your life from the 72 years you shared with him
                                          he was an OK painter on canvas
                           but he created wonderful landscapes
                                                              in our lives

                                                                                 he once lamented
                           that you and I don’t see each other much – and he was damned right of course –
            his last masterstroke was to show me this
                                                              today

 

* Mick served in Kenya during his National Service; when he returned he worked on a farm and as a gardener and finally set up his own business framing pictures which supported him for the rest of his life
** stupid boxer dog family pet

 

 

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

afternoon & green & olive & rain wormhole: bad sneakers
bedroom wormhole: dream 040198 / Eglinton Hill
brown wormhole: blue and green / a l l s o r t s
cars & dog wormhole: through the window
death wormhole: existence
doing & smile & time wormhole: t w e n t y f i r s t c e n t u r y l i f e
family & house wormhole: father figure – triptych
field wormhole: slow slow / quick quick / slo / w
hedge wormhole: 3:30 am
Herbert Road wormhole: Herbert Road diptych
kitchen & yellow wormhole: zazen in everyday life
life wormhole: tag cloud poem I – numbers
lifetimes wormhole: Have what, now?
mirror wormhole: dream / 301197 // home
muse wormhole: Saturday
Ramsden Heath wormhole: duck calls
red & silence & trees & walking wormhole: let
roof wormhole: … the discipline of shamatha / and the waft of vipashyana
seeing wormhole: zazen
shadow wormhole: point of realisation
streets wormhole: wha’
uncle wormhole: Michael Redford: // someone missing
wind & windows wormhole: across the room / through the patio doors / through the conservatory windows / at the bottom of the garden / the still bifurcated trunk of / the oak / before the let-grown hair and fringes / of the fir tree / blown every lifetime in a while by the winter sun // actually
wood wormhole: again

 

Herbert Road diptych

Tags

2012, 4*, breath, faces, girl, hair, Herbert Road, lilac, passing, portrait, speech

 

 

 

                                Herbert Road diptych

                                                                                                  one –
                                                                                      eyebro^ws    painted on
                                                                                                  per
                                                                                                  pet
                                                                                                  ual
                                                                                                  que
                                                                                                   ry
                                                                                             like wha’?

                              ”-,,-”                                                             ,,-”-,,

                      the other –

                      ‘that job-yeah …?’
            breath-in   held   chin-out   lilac streaks
                      in bleached hair,
            ‘… I advise yoo,’
                      best interview voice
                      ‘knot to taykit’

 

 

 

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

breath wormhole: successive scenes in the autobiopera / conflict and resolution in each episode // credits: me me me me me
faces wormhole: travel brow-raise lip-pout
girl wormhole: tiered
Herbert Road wormhole: the spectre
lilac wormhole: as
passing wormhole: Eridge Station
speech wormhole: Beresford Square: // it’s alright it’s alright

the spectre

Tags

2012, 8*, alley, childhood, divorce, growth, Herbert Road, identity, life, lifetimes, mauve, music, pointlessness, reading, streets, Sunday, superhero, talking to myself, teaching, trees, writing

 

 

 

                                the spectre

            titanic invisible but always close
            always dissipating to a high street on a
            Sunday afternoon shops closed
                                              shall I proceed along the street maybe
shall I take another route through the alleys and back roads
            shall I not be here at all
            it makes no difference

            everything is inert
            everything is lifeless
            everything is pointless

            and when daddy left to live
                      another life
            it was only then
            that I had a name for it
            invisible but always close

            but I grew on
            I became a superhero
            and studied the frames
            of a hundred different ways
            to be fantastic
            with a secret identity

                      only I
            became the poet who saw the peaks
            in others’ writings that broke the mists

            I travelled far visiting the cities and landscapes
            of others’ vistas in each shift of music

                      and only I
            noticed the scrolling credits
            of others’ lives

            I married and fathered myself
            bodhisattva to the lives of others
            but they lived incidental
            and carried me along for the ride anyway

            I built a panacea for the art of teaching –
fading fast, not sure how long she can hold on – but found that it was a nathema

            and all along was the writer
            who rubbed off the film and grime
            both here and there and found
            the colours dark but radiant

            and yes I should take
            the alleys and backstreets
            and notice the tall trees
            shapely and mauve
            and never noticed before
            behind the shops

 

 

 

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

childhood wormhole: ‘a walk up the path …’
divorce & lifetimes & superhero wormhole: wakey wakey / time to get up
Herbert Road wormhole: passing
identity wormhole: my struggle
life wormhole: my awareness / and growth / are like my abdomen
mauve wormhole: bench / corner of Cantwell Road / and Eglinton Hill
music wormhole: ‘the walking stick …’
reading wormhole: ontophilology
streets wormhole: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get (1973) – tribute
Sunday wormhole: when
talking to myself wormhole: so much
teaching wormhole: dream / career / 040712
trees wormhole: stamina
writing wormhole: relationship

 

passing

Tags

'scape, 1978, 4*, Herbert Road, passing, portrait, smile, windows, yellow

 

 

 

                      passing

            the wide smile
            through the open window

            and the old yellow sellotape
            holding the rear lights

 

 

 

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

Herbert Road wormhole: comicolor
passing wormhole: Rue de Provence
smile wormhole: C
windows wormhole: 1967
yellow wormhole: the Mother of Wisdom

 

comicolor

Tags

'scape, 1989, 4*, cars, childhood, comics, green, Herbert Road, learning, ochre, pink, seeing, streets

 

 

 

                           comicolor

                           by
                the pink wall
                           walk
                the teacher and
                           pupil

                over the old dustbin
                the teacher opens
                           his arm
                           to the
                street: the passing
                ochre and green
                           cars

 

 

 

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

cars wormhole: bass and piano
childhood & comics wormholes: morning in / Shrewsbury Park / reading POW comics
green wormhole: C / playing on the floor / with bits of / material
Herbert Road wormhole: ‘sneezing …’
pink wormhole: pink and blue
streets wormhole: safe

 

‘sneezing …’

Tags

'scape, 1978, 4*, Herbert Road, passing, piano, portrait, streets

 

 

 

                                                           sneezing
                                                                           slap

                           down

                                           in the sunny streets
                                           the flashes
                                           of the different coloured
                           cars                “uh…”
                                                           someone said
                                           and the tinkle
                                           of an electric piano
                                           from the junkshop
                                           across
                                           the r
                                                                           oad

 

 

 

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

Herbert Road wormhole: Christmas
passing & streets wormhole: Brighton 30th June 2011