municipal garden

Tags

'scape, 2013, 7*, Bakewell, branches, breath, building, bus, cars, child, clouds, coach, finials, garden, green, grey, hearing, morning, parent, passing, pigeons, pink, roses, speech, traffic, trees, voices

                                municipal garden

                pigeons along the ledge
                below the finials of the municipal building
                heads collapsed down into their shoulders

                the grey clouds convene
                from all across the morning
                the hangdown branches variously shuffle

                the municipal dustcarts and buses –
                      sorry not in service –
                the livestock carriers the plant carriers
                      and the coaches
                make their careful turn across the
                      mini-roundabout
                and all the cars cannot be seen but
                      are heard behind
                the long screen of pink rose bushes
                      constantly

                ‘can we go on the grass?’, ‘no’,
                inevitable as the next breath ‘why?’
                upturn voice ‘because you’re not allowed’ …

                … ‘why is it so green?’ the pigeons
                flock variously down to under the trees
                forming perfect rounds of pecking heads

 

 

 

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

branches wormhole: ssreet chak-chak
breath wormhole: just saying, is all VIII: keeping up toxic appearences
bus wormhole: 1968
cars wormhole: Luton // couldn’t make a poem out of it
child wormhole: ‘quick – she’s gone to pay …’
clouds & garden & green & morning & trees wormhole: garden
grey wormhole: handsome
passing wormhole: walk from Castleton to Hope
pigeons wormhole: embodying
pink wormhole: the skyline
speech wormhole: mother and daughter
voices wormhole: singsong chant

 

embodying

Tags

'scape, 2016, 6*, Alahambra, cherub, gods, Granada, passing, people, pigeons, shell, sound, stone, talking, walking, water, waterfall

                constant éclat and smack
                from spout of god or shell

                of cherub avec fraças and
                badinage of flowing passersby

                who pause in declaratory
                language among nodding

                pigeons, lap outwards to
                swell the trough, embodying

                under plinth and pillar
                of warm carved stone

 

 

 

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

passing wormhole: passing below
people & walking wormhole: this sodden land
pigeons wormhole: portrait: / two pigeons
sound wormhole: balance
stone wormhole: b / r / e / a / t / h / i / n / g
talking wormhole: just saying, is all VI: // accountable / for my own outbreath / …
water wormhole: happen//ing

 

portrait: / two pigeons

Tags

2013, cars, clouds, Crowborough, grey, passing, pigeons, portrait, roads, streetlight, walking

 

 

 

                                                                      portrait:
                                              two pigeons

                           necking and grooming
                           on the #33 streetlamp
                           over the road giving
                           and returning under a
                           wide belly of charcoal-
                           grey cloud pointing
                           across the road and the
                           constant passing of cars
                           into Crowborough out
                           of Crowborough

 

 

 

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

cars & passing wormhole: the breath of London
clouds & grey wormhole: the windmill
Crowborough wormhole: cloud
pigeons wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich 121114
roads wormhole: 2 pm
streetlight wormhole: purple and mauve
walking wormhole: currency: / assent for statement – / ‘smakin’alivvin’

 

Plumstead – Woolwich 121114

Tags

1970s, 2014, anxiety, architecture, art deco, ash tree, bay window, bench, Beresford Square, blue, breathing, brown, buddleia, buildings, Canary Wharf, cars, change, clothes, clouds, communication, compassion, Dallin Road, demolition, dream, Eglinton Hill, empire, Europe, eyes, feet, fence, Genesta Road, ghosts, glass, glasses, grass, growth, handshake, head, house, identity, iron, keys, language, leaves, library, light, living, London, looking, love, music, passing, pavement, people, petrol, piano, pigeons, plane, plastic, Plumstead, purple, rain, rainbow, roads, rooftops, school, schoolgirl, shadow, Shard, singing, sky, smile, sound, speech, step, streetlight, streets, sun, swifts, talking, tarmac, Thames, time, travelling, trees, tv, vow, walking, walls, windows, Woolwich, yellow

 

{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); I haven’t been up there for awhile, certainly since the echoing tragedy of Lee Rigby’s death on 22nd May last year; I wrote snatches of life as usual and came home; I realised that the snatches patch-worked together and worked them into a whole landscape which they had ever were in the first place; I know it’s a long piece but please pursue it for the sake of Woolwich; I realise now that my previous visits’ writings need some rendering due-ly …}

 

 

                      Plumstead – Woolwich 121114

                      all fractured now, slightly misshapen, still
                      holding together, the grubby art deco window that
                      coloured the stairwells bracing two rooms
                      maybe three now, don’t know why they used coloured

                      glass, the bay windows still looking up the street looking
                      down, occasional five-finger buddleias like Empire
                      plaques on the wall above top floor windows
                      scud clouds above the coping

                      then flights of step up and up and straddling and down
                      the storeys of irregular variegated plastic cladding
                      upwards upwards for to breathe free and live while people
                      pass on the wet street with small steps and quiet slippers

                      I had a dream once something anxious and dreadful
                      followed me going into and out of Polytechnic Street
                      from Wellington along by the stacked flanks of seventies
                      double-glaze all screened and blinded from the street

                      cannot see in cannot see out, people walk awkward
                      on the tiles flexing metatarsals under the slight over
                      hang of the library from the colding rain while, look,
                      a rainbow arches hidden down the side-street turning

                      the bricks and glazing purple, no one looks up
                      arranging bank loans, arranging brunch, after noon
                      the sun divides streets in half, the buildings too
                      dark to see the shop fronts too dazzled to walk into

                      the sun favours ambitious plants between torn-down
                      building and upright support, plays along the side
                      of preserved plots – flanged shadow from pipework and
                      signage across circular windows – eye to the sky – under

                      hand-brow, too bright even for tinted glasses;
                      so many of my people generations poor in the sun
                      from Empires and Union under the Royal Arsenal
                      Gatehouse; each passing step collapsed and proud knot

                      in kneed of any support, thank you: their shadows reach me
                      down the Square’s access channel long before their pain
                      walks by: I don’t know any of you now with your plastic ID
                      badges with your back-pat handshakes and bent-heads

                      sincere-talk, grouped and scattered by the public toilets
                      your drunk over-emphases your ways like pigeons – where are
                      all the pigeons? – and your beautiful language aged as
                      public benches; dark clothes to wear, light clothes to buy

                      and you don’t know me – lost son haunting the streets – but
                      I love you all constant as the windows proud above roofline
                      between turrets looking onto the Square; I long ago made
                      my vow to you at a time when borders seemed important
                      I know, I know I am slow but I return again and again to see you
                      and you break my heart each time I learn to smile again

                      out towards Plumstead on the lower road (I cannot find
                      the tree I found before through all my travelling) new trees
                      and tapered posts with lights for the road and lights for the
                      pavement and posts just waiting, reaching into the blue blue sky

                      you have been done up many times, Genesta*, so
                      I only notice now what hasn’t changed, for the first time:
                      unassuming tapered pillars between the windows and bays
                      of my youth that reflect the blue sky now (yellow leaves

                      highlight the paving and tarmac wet like petrol) only noticed
                      when a swift skeeks across one pane, not the other;
                      up Dallin Road, she’s got through another day
                      she’s survived the juddering divided walls of ‘have to’

                      the way things are these days, with music in hand
                      she makes rewarded way along the steely street where
                      the sun has slipped below the higher roofline, singing her
                      do-do-do’s to the endless chorus ‘why do we do it;

                      how do we do it?’, and looking for her house keys
                      under metal clouds; the long grass grows rosettes around
                      yellow leaves, brown leaves, by the leaning iron fence the
                      steep tarmac cracks and the shorter grass takes over; past the

                      bronze age tumulus it’s clear, London’s grown up a lot
                      since I watched Francis Chichester sail up the river
                      from the window up on Eglinton Hill – something he did –
                      now there are Shards and Wharfs and stacking planes

                      and significant lights denoting all manner of whey and access but
                      still my nose is running and I need to have a wee; I suppose
                      I need to get home now the light is fading slow and fast
                      at 52 – the ash has only lost its upper leaves by the roof

                      at 48 there is afternoon tv after electric piano practise is done
                      at 44 – the estate agent climbs awkward into her clean soft-top with
                      high clip heels; at 36 – a lantern shines arched in the porch while
                      sirens circle the borough and there’s nothing left here now outside 46

 

 

 

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

bench wormhole: the bench / on the fourth sister from / Birling Gap before the / wind-brushed scrub and gorse / and the grey-blue sky / smoothed through the / fishtank-blue horizon to / grey-green sea
blue & leaves & sun wormhole: Jean Miller kissed Salinger
breathing wormhole: born again
brown wormhole: on sitting / in front of / a hedge
buddleia wormhole: (Little by Little)
buildings & travelling wormhole: I could step / more open
cars & roads wormhole: the long road
change & time wormhole: Dr Strange II – … things are the same again
clouds wormhole: the utter beauty of giving when receiving
communication wormhole: Maidstone
compassion & feet & love & speech & talking wormhole: there are patient listeners
dream wormhole: we’re born // to die
Eglinton Hill & Woolwich & yellow wormhole: letters to Mum V – carrying on in duty and love
eyes & looking & shadow wormhole: a maturity
Genesta Road & rooftops wormhole: corroboration
ghosts wormhole: only the Batman realises that he is dead
glass & light & streetlight wormhole: oh-pen
glasses wormhole: first a mishap then clear vision
house wormhole: day off
identity wormhole: that
living wormhole: scattered
London wormhole: letters to Mum I – a walk / and talk
music wormhole: no exit
passing & sound & walking & windows wormhole: Matildenplatz / & Luisen
people & rain & sky wormhole: Luisenplatz
piano wormhole: … walking down the street
pigeons wormhole: tune up // baton taptaptap
purple wormhole: consturnation …? // consternation
school wormhole: tag cloud poem VI – anyone’s eyes
smile wormhole: irretrievable / breakdown / of marriage
streets & trees wormhole: Dr Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street
Thames wormhole: letters to mum II – family // like a grate
tv wormhole: multifarious: the Dark Knight Returns (1986)
walls wormhole: stuck free to move within

 

tune up // baton taptaptap

Tags

'scape, 2014, bedroom, birds, birdsong, crow, music, open, pigeons, rain, rooftops, seagull, trees, voices, windows

 

 

 

                                                              tune up

                                after the rain
                and the paths still wet
                the window can now let open
                to clear the condensation
                from the bedroom at the level

                of treetops and roofs
                the network is already gathering
                pre-call testing testing
                three notes – pigeon pigeon

                                throat-clear – mute
                                long   lift-glide-land
                                coda

                                              ough/
                                              ourrrgl/
                                              ough

                                                              time lapse
                                                              chapter lapse
                                                              three-call crow
                                                              oblique cut-off

                                                                                  yjour/yjour/yjour

                                              while seagulls climb and
                                swoop each other silently

                                                              baton taptaptap

 

 

 

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

bedroom wormhole: achieving good-enough living
birds wormhole: open window
music wormhole: letter 080514
open wormhole: waiting room
pigeons wormhole: afternoon 290613
rain wormhole: on sitting / in front of / a hedge
rooftops wormhole: Maidstone
seagull & trees wormhole: I could step / more open
voices wormhole: 1964
windows wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot

 

afternoon 290613

Tags

'scape, 2013, 6*, afternoon, birdsong, blackbird, breeze, clouds, combe end, echo, garden, leaves, pigeons, rooftops, sky, sparrows, time, trees, walls

 

 

 

            afternoon 290613

                                                      pigeons call
                           high on trees and apexes
                                          furry columns that reach the sky
                                          and keep it from drifting

                                                      blackbirds outwit
                           even the various leaves in the breeze
                                          a different call every time
                                          and then they move on

                                                      but sparrows
                           always echo off a near wall time and
                                          time and time again even when
                                          there are no walls

                                                                      and there are always walls

 

 

 

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

afternoon wormhole: more importantly
blackbird wormhole: at the apex
breeze wormhole: it was the breeze wot did it
clouds wormhole: London
combe end & garden wormhole: as
echo wormhole: chrysalissing
leaves wormhole: Eglinton Hill
pigeons wormhole: first dog / in the park
rooftops wormhole: sunny morning
sky wormhole: greeyn
sparrows wormhole: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get (1973) – tribute
time wormhole: it was the breeze wot did it
trees wormhole: the pleasant land / of counterpane
walls wormhole: Boy

 

first dog / in the park

Tags

'scape, 2012, 7*, dog, mind, park, pigeons, Plumstead common, sun, writing

 

 

 

                                first dog
                                in the park

                      there are so many more
                      thoughts and lives in the mind
                      than I could ever work out myself

                      pigeons and doves everywhere
                      settle back in the shade
                      after the poem is written

 

 

 

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

dog wormhole: double glazing
mind wormhole: I am a solid block of stone
park & pigeons wormhole: parc du Champ-de-Mars
sun wormhole: knees
writing wormhole: guileless naïveté – / a biographical / manifest -oh!

 

parc du Champ-de-Mars

Tags

'scape, 2012, 4*, Eiffel Tower, Paris, park, photography, pigeons, speech

 

 

 

                                                                                 ready
                ready
                                              sit-crouch
                                hold it
                                                              hold it

                                silent click – point

                                              oh a pigeon
                                                                                                            flew
off

                                              missed it

                                parc du Champ-de-Mars

 

 

 

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

Eiffel Tower & Paris wormhole: the Eiffel Tower
park wormhole: the Eiffel Tower
pigeons wormhole: coffee shop / no –
speech wormhole: losing the anxiety

 

coffee shop / no –

Tags

'scape, 2011, 4*, coffee shop, people, pigeons, sky, streets

 

 

 

                                coffee shop
                                     no –

                     not the leggings which wrap
                                her –

                     … the hundred people making their way
                                in the street
                     when a hundred pigeons flap
                                across the sky
                                disappear
                     and then return to the roof
                                they came from

 

 

 

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

coffee wormhole: coffee shop / inculcation
people wormhole:
pigeons wormhole: from behind
sky wormhole: Bonus Books
streets wormhole: coldstreet

 

from behind

Tags

'scape, 2011, 4*, cars, Eglinton Hill, passing, pigeons, Plumstead, walking

 

 

 

                                   from behind
                                   the diesel car purred
                                   slowly down the hill
                                   then a pigeon dropped
                                   onto the road and walked around
                                   a bit

 

 

 

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

cars wormhole: fir trees
Eglinton Hill wormhole: dream / 290706
passing wormhole: training
pigeons wormhole: all at / once
Plumstead wormhole: 46 Eglinton Hill
walking wormhole: promenade