#2445 --the end of everything is personal

 

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the end of everything is personal

for Beth Spencer

 

so it is with the cow gone down

a risk miscalculated

the cloying cadence of a ballad’s wrong

 

something’s going to get you for sure

a tissue and all fall

self much mattering

 

we do not know what will be

what’s next

and some have made this dogma

but in the end, you’re not

 

we come across intention then

S-catalogue of Armagged

that’s a tad deterministic

 

last bed, imagine!

as if you could sink in

but no!

 

it’s round the final furlong bend

still something in my shoe

or it might be the sock

 

the eye yet feels the speck long gone

 

the bird hangs by just a claw

from a fencewire barb

fair to say someone’s missed

 

like Dickens re-reading his own novel’s end

there’s a god weeps somewhere

                 for our loss

well after the event

 

it’s coming – doncha know

#2444 -- wake in a strange house

 

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wake in a strange house

 

empty, they’re out

this was someone’s childhood

 

I have to wish a way home

 

and come down the stairs and more

 

don’t notice when clothes first appear

 

tiptoe, hush, just in case

but the voices are far

 

is the door alarmed to get out?

 

in the front yard, near naked boys wrestling

not mine, not mud, more Eton Wall

it’s Mosman … I see that now

 

the mothers and the sisters scold invisible

 

begin where nothing’s remembered

 

the storm water, the green grass bamboo

solid flimsy

 

and struggle through

at the mailbox at the gate

I cannot see the American flag

my sarong admired for cotton, for batik

chit chat kills the time

 

a name is all there is to connect

a dead name

will I tell? but no

 

look back

how many storeys is hard to tell

but this is polite conversation

must go, wish on

 

on foot, I’m a way

I’m a long way to go

 

streets and anonymous

to make a start

 

it looks like the place you know

but it’s not

 

no wallet, no fare, will I beg for coins?

 

I’m not there

when I get there

 

he has brought the honey

kindly though I never asked

is patient for his cash

I go through pockets as deep as the day

consider I might be a ghost

 

there’s nothing to recognize

steps up to a cupboard

I know what’s in

 

dismiss the many doubts

hand coloured

 

who’ll notice?

 

will this have been the season you left?

 

water’s still cold from the tap

 

this was all in extra time

 

I only remember the tune

#2443 -- the greying and the sky dark

 

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the greying and the sky dark

the lion S

 

I’m at a table with the queen

with all the queen crew

now and then animated

good works

… very pleasant

 

the grey queen

gone as we know

but always just as with us

the deified king mother

a lot like Mary looking down

so many virgin births – a litter

and some may wish they were not born

 

but really she’s lovely

like in that Beatles’s song

‘gotta get a bellyful of wine’

 

I want to ask

‘how has the queen’s English been for you?

was that a lot of pressure?’

 

we have an engagement

but one mustn’t ask such things

…. fox paws in this dead presence

 

and not so much the off with their heads

as croquet and a horse sits well

just a regal wave of the hand

 

most of a monarch is death, you will know

and earlier a king, big bully

and now a king again to bury

 

because it is the grey queen

because she is the lion S

 

because we see them counting

in their blackbird pie

just where the cat may look

#2442 -- a door is open at the heart

 

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a door is open at the heart

 

over the clock a flower grows

 

were we once not trees?

 

a crowd of the gone pile on just then

 

in my own thicket let

 

you’ll whistle

 

time seemed not to be passing

and then it passed

 

safest where no one sees

 

won’t you please come in

#2441 -- from purest doubt, the poem

 

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from purest doubt, the poem

for wise surprise

 

out of the woods where things have no name

out of a kind of oort loud

comes a comet swing – head fire, tail ice

both ends burning

all sing

 

or the whole pond frog

and none know why

from creviced recesses least cling

 

there’s sleep comes back, as in a dream

just a moment, all’s changed

cheese moved

and you were there to witness

 

there’s nothing more innocent than a question

 

keep asking

persistence drives on

 

no one knows what the next line holds

no one knows yet why we’re here

 

at a window tap tapping

out of the green

why does this bird want in?

#2440 -- and the reality is...

 

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and the reality is…

 

like announcing the winner

 

that’s what they say

as if we’d all missed it

 

those big eyes, the teeth

 

it’s one of those somehows

like a coal dust dial

 

you can taste it

that’s what the reality is

 

cat of ninetails too

relentless

we’re outnumbered

 

the flood was never known before

no warning was received

 

which bird and which tree?

they’ll tell you too

 

ear to the ground

 

the world’s a machine

 

reality trumps every fiction

 

they’ve been telling me all my life

 

with actually this …

and you must admit …

 

reality is they mean ‘surrender!’

 

they have this sure and certain knowledge

 

a kind of magic pudding

 

the brat runs off

the cows came home

 

all my life they’ve been saying ‘get real’

 

they’ll pinky swear it

they’ll say ‘honestly’, honestly they will

 

they mean this all quite literally too

 

that’s gospel

I’m kicking this can down the road

#2439 -- Pandora's

 

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Pandora’s

or

how can we fit ourselves into the day?

 

this or any

 

so many signs for aspiration

 

rough truths, such shapes as given rise

 

light musing upon thing

 

then the self embroiled

awed up and over

 

flocks flow green hillward over

make distance of the mind

 

any day’s improved with silence

 

here now

stretch and

just a few minutes ahead of myself

 

have to tempt the jinnee back in the bottle

 

thre’s the ache and the itch and the inkling

 

how then act for the best?

 

we’d need a year, a life, no, more

 

it’s only ever just step by step

remember where we are