dream I // dream II

Tags

2014, 3*, arrival, blue, experience, explanation, giving, hill, identity, looking, people, poem, reflection, retirement, school, tarmac, teaching, time, town, waking, windows

          dream I

    I had to get to school
    from the college halls
    in a town I didn’t know
    or what I was doing there

    I was already late
    but making my way
    past blue window reflections
    on honeycomb tarmac

    I realised I was going the
    wrong way up a hill people looking
    at me in my teacher’s clothes they
    knew the school is not here

    I am in an area I do not know
    so I go back down the hill
    trying to show that I know
    what I am doing I can see

    the whole town spread out
    like a city the different areas
    the school is there somewhere
    and I need to get myself there

and yet woken up now I’m not so sure I do

          dream II

    my chance to teach
    I explain everything

with little clever phrases like poems
    but each time

    I have to explain yet further
    taking hours, not

    holding them I gave of my
    of my own experience but it wasn’t

    theirs, they started leaving
    before I could conclude

retired now I’m not sure I ever arrived

 

 

 

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

blue wormhole: pass and / fro
giving wormhole: six paramitas
identity wormhole: I keep / waiting to be discovered and get lost in anticipation
looking wormhole: over-pink cagoule
people wormhole: memorial
retirement wormhole: Virginia
school wormhole: step
teaching wormhole: make your rickety / constructs strong with / unbending grids / of attention and wide- / open grates of let
time wormhole: tragic and archival
windows wormhole: windows // and balconies

 

Advertisement

prelude: // travel

Tags

2013, 6*, acceptance, castle, coffee, compassion, doing, driving, dust, field, green, Have, mist, motorway, passing, people, progress, self-compassion, sky, steel, stone, sunlight, tarmac, travelling, waking, wood

                                prelude:

                had a day to myself
                no work to do no family no obligation
                I could have built myself a castle stony to the sky
                but I did nothing to make my mark in the world
                nothing to house
                the sky

                and I felt strangely accepting of that
                a sort-of love really

                                travel

                woke-up stupid lack-slept
                but I have a certain love for myself
                and I get on with last-minute packing

                people, slaves in so many ways to Have
                but I have a certain love for myself
                and can accept us all to suffer our own coffees

                there is steel in all the greens and mist in all the sunlight
                the harvester shaves the field to dust and someone
                burns the wood to waft across the motorway

                but I have a certain love for myself and
                I let them all pass and while the rubber turns
                the tarmac I progress to a destination

 

 

 

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

acceptance & sky wormhole: stone
coffee wormhole: magnificent salad
compassion wormhole: so pleased to see you again
doing wormhole: wasted –
field & green wormhole: greedy
Have wormhole: beepbeep
mist wormhole: retirement
motorway wormhole: dawn
passing & travelling wormhole: handsome
people wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – agricultural show
stone wormhole: Salisbury Cathedral // suspended in everything
wood wormhole: the 19th century

 

faintly apricot air?

Tags

'scape, 2015, 6*, air, apricot, grey, kerb, morning, Plumstead, progress, shadow, Shooters Hill, sky, streetlight, streets, tarmac, trees, walking

                why tarmac the whole street wide
                for one bicycle uphill and one

                careful walker down (hand in pocket
                no necktie), the trimmed-back trees

                planted along the kerb edge marking
                curved progress, marking the ends

                of terrace or maybe containing the
                wide grey sky over Shooters Hill that

                delivers a half past ten morning to the
                Borough; thinks the man by the sole

                streetlight leaning back on his cane
                in the shadow of the faintly apricot air?

 

 

 

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

air wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – intemperance
apricot wormhole: the skyline
grey wormhole: industrial estate
morning wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Follow Your Nose
Plumstead wormhole: like ink – poewieview #23
shadow wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
sky & streets & trees wormhole: open window
streetlight wormhole: passing below
walking wormhole: to allow / passage

 

a theremin note – poewieview #21

Tags

2016, 20th century, afterlife, Bowie, childhood, cocoon, death, driving, faces, footsteps, futility, headache, history, hope, horizon, identity, life, lifetimes, perception, porridge, sight, society, sound, tarmac, theremin, time, trend, weariness

                     and then there is a ready-delivered weariness
                     in life after things start to echo: a theremin note

                     receding back towards past wistful horizon;
                     and then the footsteps march muddy over

                     recalcitrant tarmac, the tyres keep turning
                     through skiddy porridge despite all steer;

                     it starts as top-spin kwinkle, first off, then
                     the taran-tadaa of new-stood sight, to the headaches

                     that leave the face all palsied, until the pallid
                     cocoon folds in to snuff the tired trend of hope

 

you have to go deep into the corridors and past the tall windows, to get to eventual recognition – let alone re-cognition when it cannot be found – with only brief respite between thoughts and the too-closeness of every footstep; you cannot escape the footsteps, no matter how many doors you peep into; After All, 1970

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

 

 

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

20th century wormhole: the 20th century
Bowie wormhole: and that’s where I are
childhood wormhole: through
death wormhole: life [‘n’ death] / legerdemain – poewieview #15
faces wormhole: Shonagh – poewieview #17
history & society wormhole: hinged – From Hell ch. V
horizon wormhole: Quiver of / Tiffany – poewieview #20
identity wormhole: true nature
life & time wormhole: b / r / e / a / t / h / i / n / g
lifetimes wormhole: my // shell – poewieview #19
sound wormhole: always

 

stacked

Tags

'scape, 2013, blue, carlights, cars, combe end, horizon, morning, orange, pink, sky, snow, tarmac, white, windows, yellow

 

 

 

                                              stacked

                                cold sky
                                morning
                                hint of blue
                                hint of pink
                                on horizon
                                yellow car pulls in
                                dicating frozen snow
                on verge front lights dipped onto the drying tarmac

 

 

 

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

blue & white wormhole: where the goblins leered – poewieview #14
cars wormhole: finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915
combe end wormhole: fine droplets / across the glass
horizon wormhole: the sounds of 1969 // [would have] seemed that way – poewieview #13
morning & sky & windows wormhole: crease and score of silver-morning sky
orange wormhole: now, the verticals go down as well as they go up
pink wormhole: dog bark
snow wormhole: clouds
yellow wormhole: Christmas lights / around the lamp post

 

purple and mauve

Tags

'scape, 1970s, 2015, autumn, city, evening, mauve, purple, rain, rooftops, shops, sitting room, smell, streetlight, streets, tarmac, time, windows

 

 

 

                      there is a street view somewhere
                      from the shopfront rooftops at

                      the turn of the season as the
                      evenings gather earlier around

                      streetlights and window displays
                      all wet across the camber of the

                      patchwork tarmac like a cosy
                      sitting room with the damp smell

                      of dinner almost ready somewhere
                      during the mid 1970s when

                      everything began turning
                      purple with mauve with slivers
                      of white and yellow highlight

 

 

 

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

autumn wormhole: after all?
city & time & windows wormhole: Office in a Small City, 1953
evening wormhole: Evening Wind, 1921
mauve wormhole: mauve / night
purple wormhole: dream 260815
rain & rooftops & shops & streetlight & streets wormhole: now, the verticals go down as well as they go up
sitting room wormhole: mlewisredford introductory complete life audit confessional
smell wormhole: the / very gradual art of sitting

 

now, the verticals go down as well as they go up

Tags

1970s, 1980s, 2015, alley, architecture, awning, buildings, chimney, city, colour, Daredevil, dark, dawn, drawing, Edward Hopper, form, Frank Miller, ground, hearing, height, identity, landscape, leisure, listening, litter, notice, orange, rain, rooftops, seeing, shops, silhouette, sitting, snow, sound, streetlight, streets, suburbia, tarmac, vertical

                now, the verticals go down as well as they go up

                                the form of
                                architecture
                                is drawn
                                by rain

                                streetlights
                                merely cast
                                the silhouettes
                                of dawn

                                in the 70s
                                and the 80s
                                the shops
                                opened late

                                like Hopper
                                landscapes
                                foretending
                                leisure

                                sleet down
                                an alley when
                                there are things
                                to be done

                                (cab waiting
                                with the meter
                                running) but
                                when it snows

                                it is time to sit
                                on a ledge and
                                listen to all the
                                muffled sound

                                below; lighted
                                billboards and
                                the uplit facades
                                of monoliths

                                above the
                                chimney stacks,
                                only when
                                sprung from

                                girders can you
                                hang foetus-like
                                above the roof-
                                tops; let all the

                                striving height
                                recede back
                                to the ground
                                it stands from

                                assassins and
                                bounty hunters
                                proceed colourful
                                and silent by the

                                dark rooftops
                                of old town
                                suburbia, only
                                the blind devils

                                leap the burning
                                awnings more
                                bright than day,
                                where only one

                                will notice from
                                the street, and
                                yet the fantastic
                                storeys of

                                orange-corporate
                                building rise
                                ineluctable
                                behind all

                                borough, seen
                                but not heard;
                                except for the
                                litter of paper

                                trailing the collateral
                                dance across tarmac
                                and paviours, hardly
                                noticed, but ever indulged

 

 

 

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

architecture wormhole: House by the Railroad, 1925
buildings wormhole: dream 260815
chimney wormhole: silhouette: // second / thoughts
city wormhole: Morning in a City, 1944
Daredvil wormhole: tag cloud poem V – draft-ness
dawn & orange wormhole: gre[wh]y / has Daddy left us?
Edward Hopper wormhole: Summertime, 1943
identity & streets wormhole: ‘from under the awning …’
rain wormhole: open window
rooftops wormhole: House by the Railroad, 1925
seeing & sound wormhole: after all?
shops wormhole: that comicbookshop in dreams,
silhouette wormhole: 1959
sitting wormhole: Ashdown Forest / 080213 14:47
snow wormhole: To my Mum
streetlight wormhole: the / very gradual art of sitting

 

after all?

Tags

2014, autumn, being, breath, cars, duty, finding, found, glimpse, identity, journey, leaf, lost, mantra, others, passing, poetry, quiet, seeing, self, service, sound, streetlight, talking to myself, tarmac, writing

                is it really worth me writing isn’t it
                just finding wisps and glimpses
                between which to find the outline
                of my wan and piquant poetic self

                no great find and no great journey
                wouldn’t I be better found lost in
                duty and service to the others
                I seek to identity myself sic from

                defined by all common denominator
                factored through by breath and mantra
                to find the being before the breath and
                after the sound or is there a self

                nevertheless to be recognised in the
                scrape of dried leaf under streetlight
                across the tarmac the first to herald
                autumn business and quietly passing cars

                after all?

 

 

 

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

autumn wormhole: under silent direction of architecture
being wormhole: Morning in a City, 1944
breath wormhole: Summertime, 1943
cars wormhole: along
identity & sound wormhole: … anymore
others & talking to myself wormhole: it is complete
passing wormhole: 1963
poetry wormhole: like butterflies on / buddleia
quiet wormhole: Sunday afternoon
seeing wormhole: wriving
streetlight wormhole: the / very gradual art of sitting
writing wormhole: that comicbookshop in dreams,

 

1972

Tags

1972, 2012, evening, haiku, light, petrol, rain, rainbow, shops, streets, tarmac, years

 

 

 

                                   1972

                                 rain-sprinkled tarmac
                      evening shop lights petrol rainbow
                           in the gutter

 

 

 

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

1972 wormhole: 1972
evening & rain & streets wormhole: To my Mum
haiku(esque) wormhole: after the storm
light wormhole: thar she perched
shops wormhole: I’ve only just realised / after so many decades / that the smell of neglected land is lilac buddleia
years wormhole: 1962

 

I’ve only just realised / after so many decades / that the smell of neglected land is lilac buddleia

Tags

'scape, 2014, air, ants, brick, buddleia, car park, grass, lilac, realisation, sand, shops, tarmac, time, tree roots, Uckfield, walls, weeds, white

 

 

 

                I’ve only just realised
                after so many decades
        that the smell of neglected land is lilac buddleia

                the weathered brick wall
        so new and even when built
                skirting the back-road High Street car park
                behind the shops
                long abandoned
                broken
        where the tree roots burst the tarmac (cut off now)
                three courses leaning
                dry grass and leaf weed along the reclaimed border
                a whitish bloom growing –
                out of or into? –
                the top course
                in the open air
        sand-dust at the foot cracking avenues along which
                ants travel under
                quivering weed stalks
                leaning from
                out the wall

        same as they ever have same as they ever will

 

 

 

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

air wormhole: after the storm
buddleia & shops wormhole: events happen / through all measure of name
lilac wormhole: the edge has come …
realisation & time wormhole: letters to Mum VI – Years / after you have gone. Still.
walls wormhole: thar she perched
white wormhole: ‘the red and white …’