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22.iii.26
in all the places of the dark
paws forward, scratch to eke
faith that the day will come
in all the corners of the dark
in the wings where we wait
very few see what I do
yet
all the colours of the dark
fix an eye for later
my dream shone
pillow for a cloud come down
in all this then
a day dive
eyes up
to receive a sky
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21.iii.26
someone
asked me what would become of my book
poem for Rob Edmonds
actually, what would I do
with the book (?)
that was the question
I thought long and hard
(and one always hopes that a
book may have such effect)
but, more realistically
the book and I, in a sense,
headed each equally for an oblivion
and you, o reader, too
the one who asked
all are!
compost
fires to light before
(though perhaps too soggy
with the tears wept in)
still, your ex-tree,
inscribed, has its many uses:
– a cockroach swatter
doorstop, post yellow pages
the araldite weight
and counterweight measure
for poison in the pipes, for
lead
and burden to bear home
a heaving thing, my book is
once candlelit and peer
waste hours
someone might take a leaf
out
grease wipe to a naked flame
or bright side
as a sun plays out
your sovereign method of
gathering dust
humidity? dust sticks
presto! grime!
eventually inscription fades
a rot sets in
there’s slim chance read
first
to open eyes, hearts, change
minds
a cobweb blowout eye slap
and others can be therewith
whacked
for mole
(smartarse for instance
… most fun had with book)
here’s one that others might
yet pile upon
a book to bookend all!
for the sweeping of crumbs
to make thwack
or flick through pages for
that sound
so satisfying (once got to
the end especially
have we word for that?)
but picture it!
the image procession, mind
of a reader
plot and make it bible
the memorable lines
now collocate
your aphorist recalls
it can be on for young and
all
treasure hunt to find the
hidden page
(two stuck together… one may
speculate)
or some will hollow out
to hide the key, the drugs,
a secret map of the library
leads you to the book you’re
in
and there’s your Escher
scratch
if with mirrors so then
smoke
open to any page
divine
by see what insect lands
aliens all prophesy
and take your time
sing with
a pillow for the hard of
head, book is
in corners where least scribble
but who can read such
annotations
as the ancients did?
to speak of all the woes
there are
of better world we’ll make
what would be done with it?
what’s to be done?
the point is
just to prove a point
it’s for building a bridge
it’s for knock down a wall
it’s to tear up a fence by
the roots
a thousand years our purpose
in eveyone’s words
in no one’s
in case of hope, break glass
to find the voice that was
there all along
that’s to speak a new world
out
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20.iii.26
a tree
does birds
with twig perch
and till leaf along
if weather will be anything
each sentinel
see it’s up with
sky between all
a feather to the breeze
big can-we-call-it-smile?
and there will be
suspicions, cares
first light sets breakfast
off, we’d say
or time, like a silence
between
we watch
there’s all the sleepless
chat to bright
a kind of writing in the
vanish
gone as soon as sung
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19.iii.26
something
is going to kill me
who knows
where when how it will
nor ever wicked
but death’s true!
it happens like shit does
sometimes too polite to
mention
this finality and ours
like a last certificate
time notional in stone
and gets a date
(a year at least)
nor roll the dice
collect, go on
just one more test
I’ve passed
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18.iii.26
riddle
of the idyll
another concert piece for Glazunov’s
‘Idyll for horns and strings in D maj’
I work at a fold in the day
that’s where we’ve gone
say grove
say bee loud
dragon flit
all the weight of the past
all the future lifts
be ripe
and let a breeze here
feather fall and leaf
set off on the spot
so then there’s this tune
the idyll sticks
for divination
fallen till the ground
a dusk
then creekside
and even in the undertuck
glow with the light lasting
day
run rings around myself just
now
there’s a loose end tied
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here
for the gone
(only ever a draft)
for godsbother
grow old? not grow old?
that’s a joke with no butt
not here because they
followed orders
a flag, they were singing
we all are
even the idea of memory
wearies
we’re the remainder
still under construction
then it’s carry one, carry
another
notice how they divide?
you’d like to think there’s
some point to it
there is immortal thinking
and whom can we thank?
‘happy funeral’ some may
have said
but these are your stone
cold facts
life ends in tragedy, you
know
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16.iii.26
csókolom
in life as when
they will always be with me
a question never asked
they’re remembering
in the dream
and answer with their eyes
of course
I bring the knot
they fix the risk
and where we disaffect
trick time and truth to be with
the question never asked before
I keep a face soft focus
some one word
talisman
no speech required
such eye to solace
I know it can’t be so for some
that’s my luck
and some will say
theirs in mine
now they’re gone as well
a tune too
for the conjure up
as were a shadow cast
it’s my hoof makes the way today
my claws catch up the tree
or in a suit that shines
blue as the feral sky
time is run by some least grief
we hand it to a clock
it’s gone
then letting go but holding
to their little fire
kept for our dark
the singing at dawn
so a new day begins
they are of light
a clouds weight haul along
so I will be with them
and answered in their eyes
kept for the dark
just so as we may dream
