#2467 -- Spring!

 

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Spring!

 

who’ll sing first to wake the sun?

   rouse flower?

who rises to occasion this?

 

Spring!

and the colours come

 

air blossoms

least of bees belonging

 

socks up, boots on

who beckons from doors?

 

first task to untrouble

 

tendril and twig

as if mind expanding

 

and out

see up to a treetop tussle 

 

Spring and rude thoughts

a path green through grass

moss with mist

go on for a woods day deep

 

Spring, dear friend among our seasons

called from far

as unknown heretofore

our very own

bright spread

and mourn those past

 

Spring!

somebody lands on me

how many legs will you have?

and a wing?  I see right through

 

Spring!

pretty dead things to profit all

shadows, echoes and reflections

 

Spring!

ducks landing

and they’ll take off too

 

all as if from nowhere

headed that way

 

Spring!

and we’re home safe now

 

there’s no one here to thank, to blame

 

it’s just the turning of one world

all that to which we’ve survived

 

like a warm zephyr with which one is swept

 

who will call me to a name?

that is not a thing required

 

no, we must honour it!

who’ll raise a sun to sing?

 

#2466 --- in the aftertime

 

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in the aftertime

 

you’ll tune for someone’s last signal

 

play the old discs where still indoors

              and toxic out

 

as if it were all that was held in the air

   all that the air could hold

 

return to our dust, thumb pages

 

yes, there’s what’s to it? 

             and it glows

 

will it be a matter of waiting

 

after the terrors and still

a world of unburied bones

 

we all did this

who said no?

 

walk in

who’s to know where we’ve gone?

 

word still keeps under a stone

and sometimes there’s nothing there

                        no one

 

twig in boot, go on

#2465 -- a window for the moon

 

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a window for the moon

 

a world too fast

 

a door to bring from the sun

 

precious least

 

I will be discovered late in the piece

 

hide all the facts I can

 

a room with all those facts till forever

 

here in a far reach of winter

 

go wrong and keep going

 

spend a few days out of my head

 

then there’s some bounce to the tune

 

#2464 -- jasmine time

 

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jasmine time

 

grey touch of sky

 

wings and leafstrew

 

songs of a thicket

 

breathe on

 

melodious nose

 

who won’t flower next?

who won’t unfurl?

 

green

in the remembrance of rain

 

you forget yourself to be here

#2463 -- AI

 

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AI

every crisis a distraction from another

 

it will hardly matter whether there’s a climate

if there’s no life to participate

 

but that’s not quite right, is it?

life’s what made what we call air

 

still, other totally lifeless worlds

have got themselves plenty of weather

 

how long’s that storm been going on Jupiter?

and Venus! – hot fog

you wouldn’t see your hand in front of you

… no problem there

it would have melted away before you could look

 

that’s just the local neighbourhood

 

but back to this world …

just as we speak

and won’t you just look who’s in charge here now

thing we’ve invented called money

what they do with it

 

they say for the sake of safety

humans must remain in control

 

let’s ask the other creatures how that’s been for them

 

they say humans must remain in control

I say that’s setting bar pretty low

 

#2462 -- a hat indoors

 

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a hat indoors

 

and the rain comes with it

 

a man who has been ironed flat

 

cloud of trees thought on

 

here’s to sweet regret

 

the beautiful thing is to not remember

 

in the broken place

        see through

 

amazing how the house still stands

         with none to live it now

 

find yourself again

once sung

 

and I’m with you

not that we know such things

 

that’s how it is to be here

#2461 -- at a stretch

 

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at a stretch

7.30 am traffic

 

Gore Cove Track Series

 

to clear the head

with purpose

at pace

to get up the steps for the count

to speak with another world

(phone to ear here)

 

breathe in breathe out

so freshen the air

 

where there is the barking of the turkeys

the cooing of the pups

 

the early walkers with their sticks

hound in harness

all of them coming past

 

spring like the summer now

coming the other way

 

a scratch across the page like this

 

press blood to please the bones

 

to the plastic edge

where the e-bike’s abandoned

 

creek dapples along

 

the dollar yachts doze in their cove

 

slow burn whipbird’s over

lovely lilt beside, a trill

and crow caw

 

last of the winter chill

 

no one speaks of themselves here

 

it’s only a harbour blue line for under

it’s only a pale blue up