‘she shook the sweets …’

Tags

'scape, 1981, 6*, bed, blog, buildings, Carol, clouds, green, grey, lightning, London, love, marriage, Plumstead, red, seagull, Shooters Hill, silence, sky, smoke, Thames, time, wind

she shook the sweets
onto the bed

the grey sky
washed clean

metal smoke rose
then right-angled

a seagull
flew between the buildings

then

 

lightning

{the sweets were Lindt chocolates, individually wrapped in deep-red; the made bed was covered by a deep-green candlewick bed-spread; she was Carol, shortly before or after we were married, staying in what had been my bedroom, halfway up Shooters Hill, overlooking the Thames basin; this was the first poem I published on this blog, almost exactly ten years ago, and, in those early days, she got very little … no views; I think she deserves more than that; want a sweet?}

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

buildings & red & Thames wormhole: travel // when I die
Carol wormhole: ‘don’t look at it …’
clouds wormhole: here today and …
green & sky & time wormhole: meanwhile
grey wormhole: ‘charcoal grey-slate sky …’
lightning wormhole: a crack of lightning / in the dark of night
London wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – tenderness
love wormhole: IN THE ‘SCONSET BUS by William Carlos Williams
Plumstead wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
seagull wormhole: The Atlantic City Convention: 1. THE WAITRESS by William Carlos Williams
silence wormhole: silence
wind wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – valley

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on / that / day

Tags

2019, 6*, arms, bread, breeze, brows, cake, chickens, Darmstadt, dog, ears, elderflower, family, feet, friends, happening, harps, Jon, Krishna, marriage, people, pine-cones, salad, Sara, serviettes, sunlight, trees

                                on
                                that
                                                day

                when the breeze was high in the trees and the sunlight
                occasional across pebble paviours

                when the harps cried ‘hallelujah!’
                and the puppy’s brows drew ears to attention of
                                chickens!

                when the cake was spread before the salad as only Krishna would have liked                
                and families multiplied like fanned serviettes

                and friends came together like classmates
                and peoples’ feet jumped one way, their arms waving the other,

                Jon and Sara pulled the bread and divined pinecones and elderflowers
                when things really had
                                come together beautifully

 

Jon and Sara married a couple of weeks earlier, but we celebrated later all together

 

 

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

breeze wormhole: at Kreukenhof
dog wormhole: 10/22 by William Carlos Williams
family wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – An Old Piano
feet wormhole: waiting to be heard
Jon wormhole: early // Minoan & Mycenaean Exhibitions in the British Museum – diptych
people wormhole: boiled spangle with soft centre
trees wormhole: travel // when I die

 

`whappn’d!

Tags

2018, 5*, being, books, cafe, cake, capitalism, Carol, clothes, living, love, marriage, sponge, stone, water

                                `whappn’d!

                over bakewell tart and
                carrot cake in the garden shop
                café: what we got now …

                we shed our clothes and
                books and find that capitalism no
                longer works; the stone

                will also exhude mineral
                when wet with water from
                the slightly squeezed sponge

 

on 25th August 1981, Carol and Mark got married in a registry office – in, signed, out within 15 minutes; 37 years later found them in their local garden shop cafe on Ashdown Forest looking at each other across the table … he had been like a stone giving little that was needed, she was like a sponge taking all that was available and still dry …

 

 

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

being & love wormhole: THE DESOLATE FIELD by William Carlos Williams
books wormhole: lost the search
capitalism wormhole: growth
Carol wormhole: … the underleaves show
living wormhole: cowled
stone wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – old George
water wormhole: transferring

 

sit

Tags

2010, abandonment, ageing, Batman, bedroom, being, biography, birthday, books, border, branches, cape, carpet, cars, Catcher in the Rye, childhood, children, comics, compassion, counting, cowl, crying, Dad, divorce, father, flower, fog, fracture, French, green, guru, history, house, identity, image, leaf, life, living room, lyric, marriage, moonlight, Mum, music, night, numbers, parents, pattern, planets, posture, power, Salinger, self-compassion, sentient beings, settee, shadow, sitting, skyline, speech, stone, sunlight, superhero, Superman, surrealism, talking to myself, teaching, wife, world, writing, yin yang

 

 

 

                           I stared at the pattern of the carpet
                           driving my cars behind the settee
                           while my parents said final things
                           to each other; the twirl of the branches

                           a better life, the curl of a flower;
                           you’d better go, the border; and
                           never step back in this house again,
                           the shadow of the leaf is also a

                           darker green; I had never studied
                           the pattern before – never had to,
                           never could – I can work it out now,
                           see how it repeats; I think something

                           is happening with Mum and Dad
                           on the other side of the settee; but
                           this pattern continues around the
                           whole carpet, around the whole room;

                           only later – in bed – is it announced
                           what I had already known, and only
                           then could I ask why does it have to
                           happen to us and cry; only when it

                           was announced, only when it was
                           expressed; I had already known
                           but I could only count the patterns,
                           I could only drive the cars; and

                           as I cried, I was numb – pattern
                           before settee – I could fracture
                           from the world, just find a pattern;
                           you’re the man of the house now,

                           someone said to me, so I studied
                           the pages of comicbooks – patterns
                           of power, solving under cowl,
                           jumping under cape, between the

                           skyline and the world: I shall
                           throw stones high, until they
                           don’t come down; I shall dig so low
                           that no one could follow, no;

                           I shall count all numbers; I shall
                           collect all numbers; I shall
                           discover all planets; I shall adopt
                           the posture of heroes, no; I shall

                           number the histories; I shall weave
                           the texture of music; I shall taste
                           the shock of lyric; I shall smell
                           the books, no; I shall sunlight

                           the chorus; I shall cry the biography;
                           I shall see the image, and write them
                           into existence, yes; I shall follow
                           the curl and the twist and the twirl

                           under moonlight all the night long;
                           then, I shall play catch in the rye;
                           I shall alors les boulevards; I shall
                           yin the old yang; I shall surreal in

                           the fog; I shall honour my guru
                           I shall marry my wife; I shall father
                           my children; I shall teach in those classes –
                           but forty two years on, he had still

                           just left; and I still didn’t know how
                           to be the man; time to get out from
                           behind the settee, take a seat with
                           all the others, and
                                                  just
                                                  sit there with them all awhile

 

 

 

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

abandonment & divorce wormhole: … back to the outbreath
Batman wormhole: zok! and pow!
bedroom & Dad wormhole: 1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012
being & identity & talking to myself & world & writing wormhole: out!
books wormhole: library: start where you are IV // all the distance I have travelled!
branches wormhole: Exceat to Cuckmere Haven
carpet wormhole: Ashdown Forest / 080213 14:47
cars wormhole: after all?
childhood & music wormhole: fantasia
comics wormhole: Detective Comics #345
compassion wormhole: de Boeddha // of light
father wormhole: sight / seeing
fog wormhole: my life / of others
green wormhole: three musicians
history wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
house wormhole: House by the Railroad, 1925
life & speech wormhole: “write, let’s break outta here!”
living room wormhole: Woolwich Central – making life better II
Mum wormhole: dream 230315
night wormhole: mauve / night
posture & sitting & superhero wormhole: exactly equal
power wormhole: the continental stride of trains
shadow & teaching wormhole: … anymore
skyline wormhole: The Louvre in a Thunderstorm, 1909
stone wormhole: Evening Wind, 1921
Superman wormhole: escape from Flat Planet

 

I do

Tags

2013, air, breathing, Carol, conservatory, head, heat, home, legs, love, marriage, open, phone, portrait, speech, toes, water, white, windows, work

                                     she comes home
                           from work she downs a pint
                           of warm water then down
                           come the linen trousers and
                           off comes the blouse and straight
                           into the conservatory with a
                           whole day’s stored heat
                           window open on the settee
                           legs up on the arm – ahh,
                           the leggies needed that! –
                           in her white panties and vest
                           and her soft skin out breathing the heat
                           she turns her handsome head to me –
                           toes stroking and flexing the air –
                           ‘can I ask you something …
                           will you get me the phone?’
                           and I do

 

 

 

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

air wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
breathing wormhole: wriving
Carol wormhole: I love with all the history and lack of perfections at our command
conservatory wormhole: heirloom – break / after heavy shower
love wormhole: you can only smell the candles / when they have been snuffed out
open wormhole: good session
speech wormhole: escape from Flat Planet
water wormhole: dream 260713
white wormhole: Exceat to Cuckmere Haven
windows wormhole: open window
work wormhole: truly invisible

 

I love with all the history and lack of perfections at our command

Tags

2013, calves, Carol, doing, feet, grey, hair, hands, identity, life, looking, love, marriage, portrait, shoulders, sunglasses, walking, watching

 

 

 

                                              watching
                                that woman, there, striding
                                away from the bench to
                                peer down the road-works
                                to see what they’re up to
                                in her ill-fitting sandals
                                heel lift and flick-in a little
                                with slim calves and Hampshire
                                lope and shuffle
                                with arms dangling hand-lazy
                                off sad-mouth shoulders and
                                shapeless jumper (that she
                                always wears these days) and
                                that mad puffball of grey
                                kept in check only, only by
                                              sunglasses

                                              that woman
                                married-with for thirty two years
                                through accumulating betters
                                and diminishing worses
                                off to cook a meal
                                because she’s got an idea
                                while I rest from the back
                                I pulled doing nothing significant
                                on a long short walk hands held
                                              together

                I love with all the history and lack of perfections at our command

 

 

 

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

Carol wormhole: hot summer / morning
doing & identity & life wormhole: the stance of Buscema // qualitatively
feet & walking wormhole: library: start where you are IV // all the distance I have travelled!
grey wormhole: 1963
hair wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
hands wormhole: “King …”
looking wormhole: Totnes
love wormhole: letters to Mum VI – Years / after you have gone. Still.

 

the stance of Buscema // qualitatively

Tags

2010, being, breathing, career, doing, identity, John Buscema, learning, life, markbook, marriage, meaning, parenting, poetry, settling, talking to myself, teaching, tragedy, vanity, world, writing

 

 

 

                the stance of Buscema

                                I build the marriage
                                I raise the kids
                                I teach the pupils
                                without much intending to
                from day to day without plan without scope and sometimes, even, badly
                                because that’s all I do
                                when I just breathe

                                I write the poems
                                I create the markbooks
                                I structure the step and tick of learning with plans to rule the world
                but no one gets it and no one notices
                                because it’s all that I do
                                to make sense of the world just
                                for me

                                bah,
                away with the vanity and empty élan
                                              but; no, rather
                                that I should breathe and step the vainglory qualitatively with the
                                              whole sense of being
                                                              that I
                                                              truly am

 

John Buscema (1927 – 2002) drew like a languid opera – his posture for to conjure such stuff as dreams are made from

 

 

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

being & identity & life & settling & talking to myself & writing wormhole: library: start where you are IV // all the distance I have travelled!
breathing & world wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
career & meaning & teaching wormhole: Totnes
doing wormhole: … back to the outbreath
learning wormhole: the Apple
markbook wormhole: fly
poetry wormhole: start where you are I

 

irretrievable / breakdown / of marriage

Tags

2013, 4*, agenda, anxiety, career, creativity, doing, identity, insight, marriage, measure, obligation, schmuck, self-esteem, smile, teaching

 

 

 

                                                                                 irretrievable
                                                                                 breakdown
                                                                                 of marriage

                                                              the anxiety
                of proffering
                                what I have to do or say – born of
                                              leapt insight
                                                              and creativity –
                                                              and it being
                                courteously passed in the corridor with a slightly
                                              over-long smile
                or curtly skipped to the next item –
                                 nothing to contribute                     look it’s not on
                                              the agenda                        important things to do –
                                                              stupid stupid stupid

                                and the punishment of being
                                              obliged
                                              relied on
                                              measured
                                              appraised
                                              defined
                                              developed
                                to contribute nevertheless
                                                                                 schmuck

 

 

 

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

anxiety & doing & identity wormhole: reversing the polarity
creativity wormhole: poessay VIII: / educational behaviourism
obligation wormhole: The Future of Teaching: performance or capability (‘oh, not ‘teaching’ then?’)
smile wormhole: letters to Mum IV – healing comes in smiling
teaching wormhole: no exit