-
he pitter-pattered like rain across the rootops,
and the warm night swallowed him like a sticky, wet tongue,
the fragrant night hung as a blanket around his shoulders.
all the while, expectant trees peered in from the hillsides surrounding,
their eyes poked holes in the shadows under bridges and arches,
their eager eyes rustled along tiny, narrow streets,
and the heavy, viscous night flapped around him like a massive web,
and his feet kissed the rooves of houses goodnight
scurried across the soft grass in the park,
left not a mark,
left not a trace.
Poems from Wales
(3 Mountain Poems & 3 Laments)
Back to the Bones
this is the noise the pony makes
clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop
as he goes down the side
and breathes deep
the cold smoke wind,
the coarse grass,
the damp, easing from the ground
this is the noise the pony makes
breath, breath
drawn deep and slow,
the ice and snow,
the black and grey,
be long gone, slow breath
into the dead quiet air.
here comes
(clip-clop)
the sound of hooves,
echoing and resounding
from a long way away.
Cold Mountain
cold mountain calls me,
holds me in his palm
he speaks in the chill of the wind,
shakes the silent air,
rattles the bones of the air and the trees
he breathes vicious breaths
across the face of the water,
he grumbles in the crunch
of gravel under my shoes
and the cracking of stones
as their heads bash together
one after another down the hillside
he commands the world to hold still
and sees me moving,
the only thing breathing,
reflected and multiplied
by frozen lake and sky
his cold fingers clutch me, but in the thaw
they are too soft to crush me.
Fay
in the shadow beneath the mountain
I made a friend, fickle and fleeting
as mist of a morning, all silver-fair,
thin as trickling water, as cold to touch
as the beating heart of an icy thundercloud,
friend spoke like a raindrop, resonant and clear,
moved quick as lightning from boulder to crevice,
turned stones to gold and silver with a touch,
span webs from the moss
to lay sleepy strangers down.
eyes bright as burning moons
gazed with unblinking love,
friend cut flesh sharp with razor teeth,
drank every drop,
left not a mark,
sang softly, left a song
above the head of the beloveds
to keep them trapped in sleep.
Lament for a Fallen Tree
she got
struck through
and splintered up
tall, queenly
mistress who
used to slow-dance
on cool summer nights
wind rustling her hair
and breathing down her neck
and she
with arms outstretched,
keen to reach the blue
she got
all battered
and broken up,
soft insides
rotting on display,
her head now laid down
upon the earthy ground.
Shepherd’s Lament
my song fell flat in the dust
and lay there, trampled by the animals
I said to them
‘Legion! come out
and fight me if you dare’
a few did stare
then mostly laugh at me
or look away.
kept trying to sing
though my dry voice
couldn’t make one note
work the way I wanted
the whole sky laughed down on me!
big, bitty rain
like gravel from hell,
it hurt my hands and my head
and I said
why, o God why?
didn’t hear the song coming back at me
that had been left trampled,
it was such a quiet song
and my ears were so full
with the sound of my own voice that day.
Lament for the Hiker
lament for the Hiker
who took one step too many
and found he was carried away
by the very hands that would hold him and nourish him
the very hands in which he had placed trust
but the cold rush overpowered him,
he struggled to open his eyes,
he struggled to close his mouth,
he struggled to move his arms and his legs
and the hands that bore him
were the oldest hands in the universe
- they were much stronger than he.
the rocks that smote his head as he was dragged past,
the weeds that caught him and bound him tight,
they did not mean him harm
but the hands that hastened him onwards
knew where they were taking him.
the poor, confused little thing
- he could not tell right from left!
he could not remember how to draw breath
and that butterfly soul flew out from his chest
and into the pale blue sky.
february poems
typed these up a while ago, forgot to post them
.
under a white sky I lost you,
and couldn’t bear the thought
there’s a hiss in my voice
like the hiss of a snake’s tongue
I’ve got no means
to better hang my hopes on
slippery-sliding thru power lines
on the way out of town
there’s delay,
a sinking feeling,
come on and break the door down
*
slow train
slow train’s got to push its way past
quick-eyed glass where
I couldn’t care, but I’ll watch at will
drink in the view ‘til my senses are full
rich and poor alike are spectators
but the race must be run
wade through the crowds
and who cares if they see you through
and through?
I’ll sing ‘til my lungs cave in
and sing ‘til my voice gives out
each time the spirit moves
and I hope you see it on me
one heartbeat, shared with the ground
‘cause here by the side of my god I will be found
*
maybe the wine we were drinking
phantom violins play my songs,
leave vapour trails that linger
and a ghost train
ghosts past in full view,
dream people swimming around inside,
in their own dream,
it makes my head swim
*
hangover
dust and grit on
metal stain
figure
in the streetlight glow
under the bridge
come a long, low
rainy night sky
in tatters, spinning
‘round in a puddle
the windows
take deep breaths
no stammer
and the car pulls away
and there is silence on the road.
*
cross’d
o, my lover
shouldst thou take
and it transpire
a heartbreak
no such hollow sorrow
as empty chambers,
those loose bedsheets flapping
in a mid-morning breeze,
and where were you tonight
and where will you be tomorrow?
enough! enough!
call for a drink
bell rings
in the waiter’s gloved hand
no such sorrow
as this last late kiss
shouldst thou take aim,
I pray thee not to miss
*
black tide
sweet perfume you carried in
already got me giddy,
filled to the brim
can’t hold it all in
Eden tastes delicious, baby
Heaven is a waterfall,
I drink, I dance
all day,
all night,
my eyes overfill
with the good of it
these recent poems
are mostly about trains
but they aren’t particularly connected, I just wrote them all
‘themes’, innit
***
author’s note: some of you may be aware I posted some stuff on here and later took it down. I like it as poetry, but I don’t always know when it’s appropriate to share that kind of thing. these poems are antidotes to those poems, substituting peace in place of anger, love in place of lust, and train imagery in place of f-bombs.
