2299
7.106
17.iv.26
spilling
the dream
all
the day making
thing
askew
in
travels of a clock
fresh
mown
we fuss
for the long rhyme
time
sleeps off the adventure
here’s
petal just for strew
everything’s
about itself
and
join the dots
sign here
remember
– once we were gods
made clouds
to drape
I’m
just a minnow too
2298
7.105
16.iv.26
watching
the light come on
and
the sliver moon up east
lines
come
broad
brush to me
dreaming
sun up
a
first guess like the day
come
into focus
duck
lift and dew clad
walk
to the light
to be
warm
shake
pony legs out
a
steady on
a
smoke scarf fresh mown
whiff
to it
here
in a year’s other half
wouldn’t
call it singing though
2297
7.104
15.iv.26
everything
by accident
no other
better reason
the
here and how
its
why and when
they
pile up
make a
present
there’s
how the daylight
comes
and goes
by any
chance
say
luck, all said
and to
advantage
one
thing, another
the
action of time is not a clock
I met
you on the track
it was
the where of feet before
there’s anger in underword
joy in the absence
light lust
how
many mouths has this word been in?
how
many ears wrenched aside?
fresh
air
a loaf
to rise
an
accident in all events
turns
from the truth to make one’s own
a very
everyday occurrence
wordlessly
at times
you
know I mean it too
2296
7.103
14.iv.26
I went
looking for tomorrow’s poem
made a
little cap of my hand
that
was to scan the horizon
had a
good gaze
I set
out as if day were a page
and so
it is
I searched
in the fallow
knew I
had the words
or it
was under them all along
or I
had been
now
the poem was gone
had my
hunting hat, my whistle
took
along a grim thesaurus
I gambled
with the light
one
must conjure one’s own, you know
yet what’s
to come must lie out of prediction
as if
a thought askew
an object
in the wilds of will
a
picture musing too
you’d
think somewhere in my head ahead
the
poem come unstuck
leash
loosed at least
or
tether ending
I’d
tempt it in with, say, sugar
or sly
– a sidle up, rub here
and wisely
one
sneaks up behind
tap or
a tickle
will
words turn?
one
never knows what will find
but
that the poem’s wishful –
the
desperate hope
in a
drastic season
must
have been under the great stone of time
I call
it my own forever after
call
it all sorts of things
I hang
it on the wall and sing
although
it’s not yet there
2295
7.102
13.iv.26
no magic, still tricks
for wise surprise
for Beth Spencer
cut the clutter
delete the non-lexical for a headline
yet nothing is wasted
however devoutly
Mari Kondo is a very bad person
her book’s in the trash
or cut it up for a collage
re-jig, resume
I think of Beethoven and I think of Mozart
we’ll come back
all this requires expansion
each line must live
and yet their blood is upon it
(the darlings, I mean… I blame them)
how many dots may we ask to join?
ask and be asked
congealed blood is black pudding
we set out in the sea of the already
things done, I mean
spread a rumour so
back off head
butt out heart
it’s the not-yet, isn’t it
teaches us doubt
everything?
if it looks like a poem
and smells like a poem
if I stand it on its head
tip toe too
whisper it
release the poem from the stone
step back – it breathes
and we with
hollow out the hallowing
what does it want?
thing of darkness, thing of light
and all for a song
that’s ambiguous
I’ll have an icononclasm
weight of it’s in what won’t be said
they call it reading between
where else?
some say to keep it in your pants
I’ll stick with the never-yet-before
the live jolt
and the space around
the pruning and the range, the ramble
the page as day as page
revolves around the poem
making us all so shine
the
poem’s a happening thing
2294
7.101
12.iv.26
every
creature has a clock inside
wears
wilderness
ear
close, you can hear
every
breath is all of time
they’ll flee
where
does intention enter?
whose
will my appetite?
every
motion – paw and wheel
persistence!
a scratch
and they’ll say ‘nothing’
so all
the Earth’s inscribed
a sun’s
from flower bright
a pond
from cloud
from
puddle to slash
someone
escapes from the egg
(crude
of me for saying)
all
without a thought or else
you
could call it from a dream
think
back
how
otherly all are
it’s
in the underfur overarch
this
happens in the middle of nowhere
just
cross my path
you’ll
know
2293
7.100
11.iv.26
a
monster never cleans up after
a
monster never puts away
blood
and gore
bones
spare
parts
smoke
and noxious
not quite
thought
death
is brought to mind
a
monster’s always blaming out
always
the fault of the rest
let’s
see if these dusty old bombs still work
let’s
test out a rusty old knife
a
monster is entitled
skips
to a tune, wrong key
monster
doesn’t know that though
then
there’s ‘made me do it’
monsters
are never responsible
monsters
are up for a dare
lopes
along, afraid of own shadow
big
growl and shall remain nameless
when
name’s too dangerous to say
leaves
tracks and scat
scares
easily
lashes
out
breath
of an empty bottle
breathes
someone else’s fire
monster
dreams up a world we’re better without
here
are a couple of countries trashed
there’s
general dismay
a
monster will always get you to pay
a
monster never cleans up after
that’s not the monster’s way
