Summer 2013
Restharrow
we are the spirits of stars, from the beginning,
delivered in the winds of suns,
settling on Earth like dreams at a wedding,
of angels armed with guns.
We are the tillers of air, endlessly thinning,
replenished by titanic lungs,
passengers aboard a ship on a heading,
to all tomorrow's stations.
Beams
Let me be the one
Who journeys to the sun
Like a bullet from a gun
Where the melted rivers run.
Let me fly a car
To the farthest shooting star
To discover who we are
In the seas of flaming tar.
Let me ride a ray
To the endless faraway
Where the past and future play
In a single night and day.
Lost in Forever
Cruising in a Moonship I leave the liquid Earth
As a Dolphin breaches. I catch a glimpse of fin.
It dives as I squint against the glass. Gone.
I set a course for Titan.
Moonfall
My descending soul prays to push past Saturn's rings
strung like Rosaries round a giant hand.
My unfuelled heart yearns to be the Huygens probe
landing in a lake of Titan's blood.
That Day
Winter 2014
If I had just one
more day
a day beyond my
time
even as the
marble columns fall
whilst lethal
armies climb,
I would find
you.
If I had just one more
day
a day that wasn't
planned
even as the mountain
leopards call
whilst frozen gentians
stand,
I would hold
you.
If I had just one more
day
a day to put things
right
even as the waltzing planets
stall
whilst rocket ships take
flight,
I would save
you.
Threadbare
Summer 2015
we cannot see the weft of space; we, the mungo,
believe the looms of our lives retrieve some meaning,
that we somehow gilt the thread; we, the shoddy,
rocketed, leave to be more than ourselves and land on the weave.
Movement
Spring 2016
I felt Jovian cams powering bosons;
The ground trembled: into space we soared like Novas,
Titans of the playground.
and from Bill B:
sleeting vistas of pluvian energy
the stars recoiled
one giant step across a diminishing system..
*
Robot Cycle
Your Book is Overdue
*
*
Robot Cycle
Your Book is Overdue
Its a few short steps to the cracked
chlorestory,
Where the lecturned tomes are piled;
pages
fanning in herbed scirrocoes; then
slowly
crumbling like the dead librarian prone;
scarabs
rove like dodgems round her naked clone emerging; a
xerox
of skin and bone; she begins to stamp the
books
for the queuing robots; thousands
trudging to the last librarian single file: she
looks
with borrowed eyes as they, their books
decaying
join the queue again.
Feb 2016
*
Venting
Round boulders I dance
A puppet of light.
It's dark. In Truth I am lost
without the string of stars,
So I seek the caldera.
A moth, caught: whose heart is
chipped.
I offer it to the magma.
Steam erupts from tear ducts
as I shoulder the thought.
That we are simply robots
entertaining ants.
May 2016
*
Over There
The tiresome creak of treadmills wail once more, their dreadful drones rasp like jerking frogs,
Legless, we stump the cranking cams where life collects. Like ronin dogs
We scrape the crust for buried marrow; found, pleased, patted, our eyes look beyond the Masters, fatted,
Past their sausaged hands squeezing shit,
To the blue opening in the plaster where some dirty glass has split,
Revealing seas of freed impasto kissed by winds and rimless skies where glinting spaceships soar.
September 2016
*
*
Over There
The tiresome creak of treadmills wail once more, their dreadful drones rasp like jerking frogs,
Legless, we stump the cranking cams where life collects. Like ronin dogs
We scrape the crust for buried marrow; found, pleased, patted, our eyes look beyond the Masters, fatted,
Past their sausaged hands squeezing shit,
To the blue opening in the plaster where some dirty glass has split,
Revealing seas of freed impasto kissed by winds and rimless skies where glinting spaceships soar.
September 2016
*
Woodsy - youre bard!
ReplyDelete