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Prosaic Mosaic

 

I've found each piece of the mosaic has faith 
it is the only one so it believes
(and what kind of picture can this offer?)
all those others must be the same at least

it should be easy to imagine 
a line of flowers all bent to a southerly
or a myriad of bright colours 
all mere sparkles about a dolphin's eye

I could be convinced I'm catching the scent 
of magnolia and roses here 
...

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Future Selves

 

The shout of my poetry aims at you
you've crossed an ocean on waves of spacetime
but the seal heads bobbing along offshore
bring you right back, just a stone's throw away

as close as dammit our better selves
grown beautiful and braver perhaps
beautiful smiles, brave eyes perhaps
recognising something of yourselves in us

looking back through the power of a teardrop
the same power ...

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More Of The Same

 

Clown-Happy And Vain Souls
stagger thiswaynthat.
An unaccountable puppeteer
ensures it is so.

Clumsy steps create the diversion
for gold beak, and dark eye. 
From one scarecrow chest 
a flash of wings flits skyward.

Infants tremble at this unasked for
representation of their world.
Hold them all heartwise with smiles
and ensure the show goes on.

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Appearance And Reality 

 

Mutually exclusive 
Enemies in a sense

Have never fought in my mind 
They hold hands over the abyss

Between dream and inhibition
Where I forever fall

Comfortable and without fear

I came to find what it was
between the merest moment and all eternity

Here I become invisible for who should see me
beside the heroes and saints

And here I wait in silence for who should hear m...

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Leaning On A Spade

 

Funny how it goes unnoticed,
when your face is pushed into the loam
all those trailing hours suspended in time.

In the garden you'll become one of three things: 
another busy, busy animal, 
another serene plant, steadily growing,
or another force of nature in the garden.

Naturally they ask 'Which one are you?'
I scratch lines to beautify, and to be clear
perhaps they should ask '...

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Ars Poetica

 

the non-linguistic world speaks
(for want of a better word, call it music)
the linguistic world falls from indispensible
pole-sitter to back of the queue
(its own appraisal)
the least of all matters
hoping to hear feels much like fishing
the catch like the lightening strike
no one understands, least of all
the poet the poem

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Epigraph On The Allowed Freedoms

 

I trust this heap of myths
its many interconnections
like so many synapses

under any lens
appears a knotted mess 
no thread essential

but taken as a whole
absolutely 
awesome

no-one's been appointed curator
anyone is free 
wander where you will

 

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That's No Old Lady, That's My Mother!

 

Why can't the Sun rear up in the night,
monsterous and the more of a nightmare for being real?
Why cant the crocuses break the silence, like a fanfare
in brass, painfully out of tune?
Why can't I let go of her hand?

Will the audience take to the stage; dramatic,
democratic, and ruining the play?
Will ghosts walk through walls; everyone
we have hurt, or cheated, or laughed at?
Why c...

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Roger That

 

This is where you will live; it's not quite finished.
You just can't help looking at the builder's crack.
If you picture yourself slamming the door with disgust
are you in, or out of, the shack?

There are the cards still to be turned over.
Tell me you dream still of finding an ace.
In this poor neighbourhood there's nothing left
to surprise us, but love for the old place.

And bein...

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Stood Together


Drawn closer
hands light on each other
hips, waist, back of the neck, hair.


The epitome. Iconic 
eternal centre of the world.


But we are frightened.
Here to express ourselves, boy and girl
are we to play a role, representing our kind?

Must the gale flourish it's cape
virile as a matador
while sweet leaves of the tree
sigh a chorus in unison?
Perhaps so.


And as we take ...

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The Figure

 

I thought the fog was thinning
walking along a country lane.
I thought a figure, just like me,
walked ahead along the country lane.
I thought the figure seemed suspended
puppet-like, on a cord
feet just happening to brush the ground.
I can tell you now that later
I would practise the same technique
when I needed to raise my game.
Discerning no features to the figure
I provided my o...

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Poetry For Health

 

I want to feel my small room a cabin 
in a boat, rocking imperceptibly

and understand when I open the door
flames will fill the corridor I must walk

like a statue on wheels, chiselled features
set firm, my thoughts bent to sombre lovers

the sweetest thing holds her breath on Mars
unwilling to be reconciled cheaply

Houdini of the prisons remains dead
to the heart beat any fool...

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Poor Lives Matter

 

poets can't write
musicians neither amaze nor inspire
freedom fighters postpone their advance

tape up the bottom of a box
fill it with products
tick off each as it goes
put stickers in the right places
and on the conveyor with it


you'll be lucky to get a piss
let alone paint a picture

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Injuries

 

Vitriolic but justified, even necessary
words had been hurled as stones
intended to do the same damage

they were not stones but boomerangs
the sharp edge coming now
to claim their painful bullseye

one student of aeronautics, scarred
had a boomerang painted
hung on the wall too good to use

through a storm of hissing skies
the maimed stagger on as ever
but our student at last i...

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In Flux

 

The old days, the old ways
have flown like birds from a cage
like dramas from my youth
I looked away for a second 
and they were gone

In the old days
obstacles were rudely hacked from the path,
shells were smashed to reach their treasure.
You make to manipulate the entire environment
for your own benefit;  laugh in the end
and adapt yourself to the situation.

Other people const...

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Friends Like These

 

the people you could be open with
for the first time
are coming to town

control your nerves
rehearse your speeches
isn't it hard to sleep?

closer now
the people who could share
your fears and dreams

compose yourself
your stance and your smile
set out your true nature

these people you yearn to meet
are languorous and oblivious
as angels or gods

it is you who called the...

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Every Day

 

They take each other to the sun 
delighted having their portrait taken
with fingers entwined 
each feels joy in the other's lead
and furthest from their minds
lies a destination nearing
sunshine's victory over shadow

Bees dancing in the air before flowers
they revel in their fragile and temporary status
revel in anonymity
by night in each others arms 
they are happy to disintegra...

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Goodbye To All That

 

     Writing as mourning-
and I could just let my tears fall 
into the lake. Writing as persuasion, 
coercion, argument, complaint.
     Now that I write for myself
I find I have two feet, one tongue,
a number of days and so many
questions coming into being.
     I should be forgiven for mistaking
the poet as possessing three eyes
all the better to see with;
a mysterious voice whis...

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Congratulating Louise Gluck On Her Nobel Prize

 

     A

real fear of drowning floats
vertiginous in this fluid mix:
while shocked to believe in
life's brevity,
it hurts to curtail your desire
to know this world.

     Here's a mirror of water; 
you can't smash it.
Addition, subtraction
in the reflection;
you can't trust it.
But then you can't trust
a ruler to be straight,
the word to be true.

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At The Station

 

Across the tracks a colourful poster
showed me how I might become so happy. 
Long I studied the colourful poster;
three simple steps for a simple chappie.

A train ground to a halt between us
stocked with faces I could only pity.
They seemed to know nor would I achieve bliss
as I stepped aboard the inter-city.

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You can't see the join

 

There'll come an uphill struggle
 to leave; the salty ozone thinning
as crooked houses yield to the familiar
regimented highway.

We had travelled to sea-level quite certain
the sands always welcome the waves
two sides of a sail billow inseperably 
and taut kite-strings pull on the stars for fun.

When enjoined to view the edge of the world 
we find it veiled by white mist;  an unw...

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D.S.O.T.M.

 

I write you a letter, don't worry why
I am the muse of poetry; I write.
You call me the dark side of the moon
that's alright, we don't really have names.
You have the bright and beautiful face 
that inspires humankind through all it's phases
I am well contented sharing your being
plus my proud thrill of invisibity.
I write you a letter but wish it were a conversation.
I long to simpl...

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I Knew You Were Waiting

 

One day you may hear on the radio
an otherwise trivial song in which
the great Aretha Franklin delivers
an almost throwaway off-the-cuff line

"I know you did"

Here the words of a mother to a child
of any age bring comfort to the soul
defeated in anguished misery
who may only mumble  "I did my best"

"I know you did"

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Before The Morning

 

Asked to provide an emblem for life
I opted for the restless sea.
I thought it important that it is not itself alive
yet its constant motion parallels
life in many ways.
Very good, they said. Tomorrow, bright and early,
you must tell us your emblem for love.
Sweet dreams.

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Requiem

 

How that icicle shone, illuminated
for a while; ice melted, unremarked.
Out of reach of passing innocents
absorbed by the rainbow within.
It was a good life- it left no trace
on the world. The world can be thankful.
If it grew heavier it carried its own weight 
before the drip, drip, drip of time
took away its burden.

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File Under The Wrong Heading

 

I had sought the innocent lover
     (I could turn my hand from conflict forever!)
so long frequenting the masters and servants;
     drinking it in, smoking it out. They swear
the innocent lover has left the building.
     Now I have turned a corner and lost
sight of an innocent beauty. 
     My door opens to my own key,
unrelieved, I claim sanctuary.
     Don't hound me to admit th...

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If I could Walk On Stilts

 

Reluctantly I revere those who can
if I could I would be forever happy

I can plummet out of control
my face hit the dust again and again
these things hold no fear for me
now I have made the deal 
with whatever powers might be

So here I step up proudly
bearing all my history's bruises
let this be the day I hang in the air
easy as a condor

I feel it within my growing bones
thi...

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The Poet Speaks (To Himself)

 

I heard you say you can't read my lines:
you feel they're not meant for you.
Well I wouldn't normally say:
I don't like your food, it stinks.
(Except that stolen fruit- hey, hey!)

You'll be satisfied with nothing less than a mirror
but, going through life with your eyes closed?
Me, I'd like something for nothing
an uplifting thought that won't go away.

We're both out of luck but ...

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Daylight Still

 

You'll whisper to yourself
     "It's daylight still".


You'll have in mind a white-barked tree
     with no breeze for the leaves.


You'll pull yourself from the mire:
     your achievement defined.


The tree before the one before
and the one that stood before that,
all one radiating melancholy.


Twilight flight through pain and dangers
O, soar! Invigorate spent emotion...

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The Body Of Odysseus 

 


Seemed like angry sores and welts
over a dramatic sunset.
Like someone, frenzied, had taken red felt-pen to that sky.
Black holes set the challenge for doubting fingers-
this body had been gored by fantastic beasts.
A wildly ridged brow told a story of agony.
This could be anyone.

And there it was 
like a stain on a road-map
another scar, this one
no fault of heaved spear nor ro...

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For Poetry To Survive

 

Theirs is a darker time than ours
obstacles to their progress greater 
and the pain in their minds more real.

They lift average people like us
for they work for the sake of people like us
sharpening the edge of our weapons.

They deny us nothing, but do we see?
Clearly they speak, let us hunt for our ears
and hunt for hands that might receive tribute.

We await their word, their ...

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Work In Progress


Only because keeping still 
as beloved photographs
wouldn't do, they laboured on.

Their desire's simulacrum moved
across gold sands ahead-
not everyone approved.

Not everyone agreed, not everyone believed,
worried over motes in the eye
while whipping up a storm.

Here we were born, as this old world
bid its interminable farewell,
a bird taking to a vast blue sky
fading like the ...

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wip

The Kid With The Target On His Chest

 

It makes me consider the heart more 
sympathetically, this target on the chest
designed to make me condemn outright
the beating heart it reveals more than covers.

Who is this boy who could be anyone?
Ghostly in black and white
as if from a chapter now ash
but I've met with less in the mirror.

Shadows cresting night's hills
I take them to be the firing squad
too well trained to h...

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A Visit

 

It seems to be a special day
for grasshoppers in the graveyard,
this one on my bedroom ceiling
must have hitched a ride from there

I want him to stay this luminous green
wowing us all with feelers longer than his body
standing there upside-down
where we couldn't dream of it

so with this paper I'll bear him 
to my open window leaving him to pursue
the grasshopper ways with his un...

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Wisdom Exhausted

 

They will meet all the urgent needs
satisfy all thirst and hunger
solve the important problems
avert the worst disasters
     and relax


irreconcilable spirits


will look upon one another
with eyes like marbles
over any breakfast they choose
searching impenetrable darkness
     for simple answers

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In Appreciation Of Genuine Poetry

 

Thinking of the weekend
on a dull wednesday morning
that's poetry
brings about a glint of joy 
a welling of sorrow 
seeing Olhos de Agua
from a bus in Gravesend
for the chance to break 
the language barrier
eye to eye with dolphins
they, scarred, in their element and I in mine
that's poetry
like meeting a wise cousin at the zoo
who finds a way to say- nothing special
then you co...

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Life is...

 

Life is walked in ill-fitting shoes
many times mended:
glossy high-heels are parody.

Life is played by self-taught bands
the childs rattle, the broken reed:
competent orchestras are parody.

Life, brief as a sneeze
complex as merging galaxies:
a written history is parody.

My life is surprised, often, by smiles,
open arms- and overwhelming gratitude:
To parody this has to be se...

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My Plan

 

I plan to steal away from this circus
with the cool discipline of a juggler
and I'll make ready for silent dessert
if flowers will grow there they will guide me

Head bowed, I trace the narrow corridors 
of my fingerprints. Too long, too long;
eyes swim, neck aches, and I look up.
All those bombs that hang in the sky,
do I hope to live long enough 
to watch them slowly fade?
But ju...

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The Down-Trodden Bastard Still Blesses You

 

At the caravan's rest two prayers I say
one for the mothers all children need
and one for the children who follow and lead.
The mothers all children need
the children of the children of the children
who follow and lead, follow and lead.

Deeper than those things one can decide on
go these whispers reaching infinitude
where the loudest roars also roar in tune.
These sighs reach right...

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Poetical Polemic

 

A human being 
by temperament savouring the long lyrical line
strays never far from a curved river 
that creates the habitat, marvellous and mysterious,
the inquisitive spirit desires; 
if you cannot be lost, you cannot be found.

The idiot himself can see 
a short plank won't cover much ground
a sensible person sees also
it can't possibly carry much weight
and deep within humanity
...

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Poem By The Stream

 

Calm among the voices and the laughter
a grain regardless of the sands
under the play of roving cloud 
against the sun-bright blue
I mused upon a willow there
hung over the modest stream
and the way this brooding giant
kept its a-dangling tips from immersion
in the reflective element
so neat as would please a barber
held my focus long just there
and when the voices and the laughter...

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So

 

From a strange land comes a person
engendering much puzzlement.
On the steps I greet the stranger
who has been invited, not sent.

To begin again, a person
might well tend a vegetable plot.
If nothing grows, in retrospect
what you dreamt you did, you did not.

My brief outline of a person
repressing more than it reveals,
not by choice but necessity
-words proved to be incorporeal...

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A History

Divination by the flight of birds
is the order of the day, he sees doves swoop
from the right, and his love is emboldened.

The world is flat (and whatever happens
at the edge is no concern of the boy),
to his horizons she is the centre.

The eye of eternity has been found 
to be blind, the amber clear as aspic.
He vows to weave through these days for her sake.

To make of Mars a peace...

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Something About Hands


    You enter the mountain when it opens
Koppen hills...Aladdin's cave...Koh-i-Noor-
time comes you return empty handed:
gravity can't be held in the hand.
But you can 
imagine a huge sack of experience,
feel the weight heavy on your back;
drag a miser's triple-locked chest
full of inexpressible treasure.

    Myself I made progress
when I shut myself up
in a room for a solid decade,
...

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An Open Boat

 

The children
stuck there at the top of the ferris wheel 
swaying between this view and that
spying
an open boat comfortably settled in the sand
decide on further investigation 
it's only at the end of the day
exhausted and entering sleep
the children
aware water follows every path down
know
they'll run a proud hand along 
the smooth gunwales of their own little skiff
thought they...

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The Way To Work

 

Grieving ahead of time
my peculiar misery
I fear the cost of missing you
our epic migrations by day

endanger fragile connections

because the most precious 
is separate from the most strong
and the collapse of the good
not always due to the wrong

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Contemplative

 

Little creatures perfectly merge


with the only surface they know.


Beings; seen clearly as in meditation,


imagined lines of beauty 


understood, caught in time.


Sight and insight seeking to merge


before the surface is sheer again


and all is lost to forever.

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Titanic Ships

 

Titanic ships divide the seas, beware.
In their wake fortune's armada, beware.
Yes fortunes are made, so they say, beware.
No ha'porth of tar left for your old hull,
a light touché for fathoms dark, dreadful.
New world or crab to reside in a skull,
the lifetime that skips disaster, so rare.
Go bravely then, carve at the tiller yet
love who prepares ashore the hungry net.
Go well, you...

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The Age Of Human Rights Has Been Kindest To The Rich.

Sad signposts tilt at obtuse angles,


already rusty, known to wandering dogs,


pointing nowhere in particular.


Older, wooden posts lie rotten


and, beside that, obscure in high nettle,


stones have marked the way.


So the slug leaves a record of how 


he or she (in fact the slug is hermaphrodite)


reached this point. It's further progress


is unclear.

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Angels Don't Need Wings

 

If understanding finds each one
like sunlight reaching each corner of the garden.
If each one rises on invisible wings
carried far by sweeping currents.
Why explain in excruciating detail 
until none shall sleep without nightmares?
Each one waking sweating, crying,
still chained to the dust. 
As likely to be moved as giant trees
deeply rooted in the dirt.

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The Ball Of Life

 

                           
A curled up mouse, woken by a silken voice.
  
"Ah how they dance! 
Never did I see feathers fly this way
even as I stole into in the hen coup."
     Says an old fox.

"And oh how they love!
So distinguished a courtship,
loosing that fear and dread:
the life for such as they."
     Says the fox.

"They place but the finest sweets upon the board,
you'...

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Take me back

 


For could you really be in heaven 
knowing your neighbour suffers in hell? 
Wouldn't that heaven be blighted, 
sham as a rubber bell?


To left-overs of left-overs of São Paulo
in make-shift shelters, corrugated iron.
Over the way the slavery goes on
in utmost luxury, in plain sight;
sore eyes look both ways between railings.
In the vigorous turmoil of the present, writhing,
tea...

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Brown Study


The trees don't walk around here but
you can see how they might stalk the fields in gangs,
the stronger pushing over the weaker.
The wise ones finding a field of their own
for silent meditation; a century or so.
When they speak we should listen.
And these ten tonne rocks once hurled by giants
wailing shrieks of terror forgotten
learnt to sing to their veined neighbours
gathering in circ...

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All About You

 

You'll find it common as a buttercup.
Any animal anytime
is liable to (certain to, if you practise) 
mediate between your refined self
and all that you, in your intelligence,
can never define but feel subject to.

A finger of ivy insinuates
through the slightest crack. More than proof
your chamber is not hermetically sealed.
It's not so hard to step out of the space capsule:
just r...

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Restoring Perspective

 

Whatever got me to this point
it was not all my doing.
I didn't get here by my own wits
any more than I appear now by magic.

My confession is just this:
I have felt rushed along
blurring vision to my left and right
and my attention was poor.

All I wish now is to revisit 
those dusty lanes
this time at a proper pace
to see the life I missed by living.

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The Active As Statues

 

For good and clear reason we are 
imprisoned under black skies. They must pass overhead 
before those upholding the bright sun 
encounter our hearts. No incantations nor actions 
can hasten the day.

The temptation is to imagine 
armageddon upon us; the end is nigh.
The temptation is to create 
the hell one fears, to lose one's mind.

With our colours greyed under leaden skies 
fe...

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Daniel's Nth Poem

 

By the blown career of the butterfly
perfection proves immaterial.
By long seasons of slow-motion descent
blossoms falling widen the obvious
open door; rusty hinges can be heard.
By what uncanny proximity
is the threshold always here?
Look for no cities, no computers, no
awesome parade of gadgets passing through.
A humble starling about to show the way
now loses herself in murmurati...

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Long Haiku Or Short Sonnet?

 

Choose
as if there is no fate.
Choose long straight hair
like a long straight road
from here to there.
Choose the easy life
however hard it may be.
At the last minute as at the first
as if the duelling pistols are identical.
As a baby turtle rushes
into the sea or into a wall.
Choose.

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Urchins And Has-Beens

 

1.

'Clack'. 

A kid throws a stone.

It hits a post in the garden
     the post the kid was aiming at.

The hours of practise!

Annoyed neighbour-
     Distractions arise 
Another kid to play with-
          like stories 
The call in for tea-
               in a dream.
When you wake again

'Clack'
     'Clack!'
You can beat your record.

     Summer passes
a kid reali...

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Awaiting A Title

He's been around the world, and so
sums up every other fella
according to an occult system of his own.

And you.

Thousands of times you were tested
according to the arcane system
you had little interest or belief in.

In those times- it seemed right- you did your best.
He was your father after all.
He had his system.

And You. Uncategorised.

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The Bard's Walking Blues

 

My dawg has got the blues.
Surely must be a sad tale
ready to make me cry.
Lord! Lord! Lord!
Dog's got the goddamn doggone blues.
Got to be some kind of answer
and spirits again leaping high.

But here's a sorry, sorry man
a small gittar in his hayand.
Just the same wherever he go
all across this heap o' land.
And when he grow so weary 
stripped of consciousness,
he sees not one...

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IN

 

Where the heart is, that's the place to be.
In a nutshell, if you're looking for me, 
I'm in.
So many voyages made around my room.
But if I'm called for another journey,
I'm in.
All through the bright, bright sunshiny day
personal engagement will guarantee
I'm in.
As enthusiasts banging pots by night
applaud the NHS of the country
I'm in.
And the in-crowd is no longer elite
a new...

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Rainbows On Windows

 

As though the rain were already falling.
As though the unequalled good had already done
as they should, their easy golden sunlight
showering upon the fields.

As though the tower was already lightening-struck.
As though hands will do no other than rebuild
one another, their artistry brighter
for having been so long hid.

Dawn has drained the shadow from the mountain.
As if a gamble...

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The Deontologists

She had that dream again:
Solution found! Everyone celebrate!
Thus, supremely happy, she awoke.
But walking the boundary 
that could not be crossed,
the leaf and flower carrying stream
disappeared into the ground.
As seconds passed the precious discoveries 
she'd recorded reverted to indecipherable code.
Look now to eager friends approaching-
but tricks of light and shadow.
She was crue...

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wip

Likeness In Modern Art

      I'd spent an eternity 
constructing my dream home.
Today I began to wonder
who it is suitable for- certainly not me.
A  bee, unaware of a way out, finds it by chance.
I began to cross the road...pity me
it's always from the side you're not looking
-the inside-
the speeding truck descends upon you.
      Well, here I am waking up 
after total oblivion, no problem at all.
No worries...

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Zen Flesh, Zen Bones

 

My pirouette mistaken
I collided with something solid
whatever pride might have been about
to announce skittered from my head
projected scenarios often fail 
to reach fruition this way
being plucked from a daydream
perhaps it's for the best

So much for zen flesh
what of zen bones?

The poet asks the reader
together they might reach further
the song and the listener
to make the...

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For The Pained Spirit

 

eyes like red-hot lasers 
withered all they saw
at that time
speech was reserved for criticism
children bathed in a toxic stream 
while the generation grew 
to understand the way of their world
choking on the air of disapproval
some level of depression was inevitable
but true to their nature
they were not convinced by their state
a window onto another world
had been glimpsed or ru...

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Ghazal

 

Look over the heads of the crowd to see
just where the eager throng would direct thee
                                                                                             if it could.

 

Look again at the cloud in headlong rush
just think, would it take all eternity
                                                                        if it could? 

 

Don't fret, so sl...

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The Old Women Are Weaving

 

The old women are weaving
flags to wave over our land,
good for scaring birds
as harvest time comes around.
They could just as well weave
a scarf for each man or wraith
who has to leave them cold
as wartime comes around.

They wove the fine threads
colours of joy and plenty
that long forgotten enmities
somehow increase upon.
They wish just to be weaving
soft caps for bonny babes
...

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New Problems, Same Solutions


We all long to send off
a message in a bottle.
At last we have the chance...

In this peculiar state
we do things differently.
All this year we note a close communion 
between the living and the dead.

We could ask our redeemers to send help
but who could deliver so far?
The sailors who chance to find this-
it is we who might help them.

What vital signs are worth recording for the...

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The Clouds Should Know Me By Now

 

But they do, they do
and blackbirds leaving a treetop 
haven't felt the need to ignore you.
Reed heads gathered by a riverbank
do not criticise your mood.
A silver moon won't laugh at your conduct
and the sun seeks only to remain your friend.
I can but give advice you already know-
Don't wait for the time they greet you in words.
To move on from this impasse
return here when you can...

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Living Poetry

 

I heard again today
poets must compete
in competition they grow stronger
I must look up to those
who stand on the bodies of the slain
still I persist in prizing
a few drops of ink to the broad page
anonymously given
as from every cordon of the vinyard
for a wine daily imbibed

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Get Outta Town

 

a midlands town where the roots prove thin
calloused thumbs casually point out
long dusty roads straight to the expanse
and sky over sea doesn't disappoint
here unbounded power could concentrate
in one bolt of lightening to the heart
knowledge inspiring yet not frightening 
horizons indistinct no inch closer
become much more familiar with staring
and somehow the inevitable falling of...

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Boy Without A Story

 

He doesn't ride anywhere
not a flying horse 
or one fashioned in gold
he has walked these hard streets
apparently every day
have you seen him?

Too shy to sing out
no will to write
no telling his past or future
he stood where doors were closing
and still when lights went out
who knew?

Not recognised in the mirror
nor noticed in the dream
he has taken clouds for his friends
a...

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The Matter Of The Heart


Piece of our shattered new moon
one of our untold names of love
murmurate across the sky
this day and that for this one and that one 
who have a view
but for now settle in my tree
common garden variety
plain brown coat
your movements obscured
in leaves and leaf shadows
your stillness declares
approval of my thin-drawn lines
your movements obscured
in leaves and leaf shadows
alert c...

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today's poem-

 

During ages like this 
there is a cloud about next week.
Windows don't quite work;
the streets of celebration are quiet.

A sleep-walker, wishing his lines would rhyme,
would find consolation in wasting time.
As one shaken awake thinks of nothing
but recalling his dream and it's meaning.

jupiter's red spot is or is not 
in it's last throes
the great storm one human life 
is just...

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Another Chance

 

It can so happen
    love finds itself
        in deep water...

breaking the surface
    no more than a fearful face....

still hoping for that saviour
    a kind word
        a gentle touch.

If you or I were supposed to be that saviour
    might we find the word, 
        the soft touch?

Easily-bruised love will 
    accept nothing less
        though confronted with the ...

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Alternative Vow

 

Ran to exhaustion from the world as known,
found a wild wood where a dreamer should pause.
Sui generis flew an owl of comfort,
for this high mercy I pledge you my heart.

By the song of the moon and the world's cry
shepherding we two closer still-
where the corn is ground for the evening feast,
hear me pledge again my whole heart to you.

Stories of love told over and over
make fut...

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Not The End

 

chess fans
set 'em up again
expect the worst
a time of crisis reconstituted
a time of crisis not the end is nigh
make a fortress of a piece of wood 
one of the lost boys would tell you
prepare to have your every move questioned
and found wanting
the best you'd always aspire to
but sometimes good enough can do
the unseemly mingling of positive and negative  
is it dark stripes on l...

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Practical Poetry

 

A huge effort for a meagre reward.
Does this practical definition 
of poetry discourage? It shouldn't 
if the benefit gained can be achieved
no other way.
First, to even understand the language,
we move away from the centre.
If we stay around the centre our language 
will be that of quotidian advertising and pop songs.
So we embark on an endless journey, it's quite natural.
It's a j...

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An Alpaca For Amandalpaca From Alpacadam

 

Here's an alpaca with your name on it
fur as soft as the ear of a rabbit
bounding between the lines of a sonnet
all for the sake of love.

An' if this crazy camelid runs away
the green grass of Kent leading him astray
you just whistle him home- it's your birthday
all for the sake of love.

In the name of love, for the sake of love
just whistle an' he'll come bounding for love
with...

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The Attraction Of Tiny Petals

 

I'm loving learning from people 
but wouldn't dream of teaching them lessons.
Strange how they improve me yet
I wouldn't change them in any way. 
I'm not looking for the best way forward
just a way forward. Everybody needn't agree
or God forbid, all concur with me.
Although as far as ever from Utopia
progress is surely being made.

Thunderous footsteps. Giant, giant footsteps
rever...

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The Bad Artist

 

something like an eye charmed them 
down from the sky
twenty-four Canada geese jostling
petrified gods and unicorns
around a garden pond

the boldest took the plunge
and all hell broke loose
fortyeight wings fought for space
resembling a spitting cooking pot
our birds boiled alive for goose stew

the bad artist originally concieved,
his faery-tale landscape growing with each step...

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I/You have been a sprouted seed; a blade of grass;
a member of the cornfield; intent on the sun of this season,
at the mercy of unknowable weather.
You/I look over the field; lean on the fence: 
praise it's beauty, often; unable to focus on a single strand,
scanning the golden waves like a lighthouse.

 

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Untitled

How do I imagine
being half out of this world?

I'll guess spectacular exhibitions are behind me now
a wave of Olympic sprinters knocks me back.
I don't know what all the fuss is about
rambling against the tide.

Are you still there? I'm sorry
I can't buy anything you're selling.
To be honest I have trouble
hearing even the market trader's 
shrieked bargain, signifying nothing.

I Im...

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Ross's Poem

 

 

Demelza, where can you be?
I believe you seek something 
to benefit, or at least delight, me.
Have you followed the poet to his hidden pool
where he dabbles his days away?
Will you return from the black hole
with alacrity, a supernova in your eye?
Have you learnt from mothers cherishing children
the human heart's infinite endurance?
Or of inspired freedom fighters too,
leaving ...

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Rigour

 

I want to look at what I see everyday,
going where I've been before.
Let me be caught unawares 
by perfectly ordinary events
and learn from what I already know.

I know an oasis where thoughts are focused
I'll spend more time at this secluded pond. 
Drawing from my small pool of words
simple reasoning I can commit to.
Worthy slogans don't reverberate here.
Iconic lines need not be ...

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This Poem

 

Almost like it didn't exist
until I shared it with you.
Rainbow, parrot, twenty year old story.
Counterpoint in the tumbling notes,
metallic beetle on the fencepost.
This poem
capering close to high cliffs
not to be the first one who sees
a huge sailing ship appear
(that would be joyous of course)
just to live through the actual moments
an imperceptibly moving huge sailing ship app...

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Hearts And Minds

 

One by one they fall, little Gandhis
but their numbers continue to grow.
Impressively they behave 
as if they will live forever. 

Like all of us, they have an invitation 
to the marriage of heart and mind.
Do they wear their best clothes?
What gifts do they bring? Are they happy?

The Mahatma himself could not be
more sure of his case.

They will not pay for the thread
of their...

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You Are Here

The narrow serpentine path 
a doodle on the body of a lake 
thoughts run ahead of footsteps 
winding their way by routine

just yards away another world
dawn hesitant among the trees 
to and fro glide waterbirds through
early mists the lake generates

the rule here is: one species, one sound
coots perform the single click "tut"
ducks and drakes for their ready patter
opt for mere rasp...

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