'Weening

Out in the night
Moon-blurred and curling
You run for the light
Of flame drenched gourds

Teeth on the outside
Cape lets the wind run
Face lit with pride
At your sugar-wrapped horde.

Bed bears

How do you sleep in a bed full of bears?
Don't you get scared when you wake
And all of those eyes are staring back at you?
Don't you feel their paws on you in the night
Or dream of those smiling mouths full of teeth?
Don't you suffocate under all of that fur,
Or itch as those things rub upon you?
I don't know how you sleep
As those things creep in and out of your bed.

Pushing

So much to do
So much I could be doing
So much I want to do,
But here I am...
Pushing.
Push... push... push...
She says she wants to stay on the swing forever,
And I believe her.
Every now and then there'll be a giggle
Or a comment on the trees or the dogs in the park
As I push... push... push...
We sing a song
I whistle to the birds and she tells me what to say
Other children come and go
And I push... push... push...
We talk about ponies and pink things
Of school and friendships forming
She tells me tales of the teachers that I don't believe for a second.
Clouds come and go, rain drizzles,
And I push...push...push...
She counts to twenty, missing half the numbers
Tells me she wants to go higher, faster
Face fixed wide in a smile
For a simple swing.
And I realize there's nowhere I'd rather be
Nothing I'd rather do
Than push... push... push.

Pooh Sticks

There's gold in the trees
Trembling, expectant
Waiting for the wind's caress.
We walk below,
Flinching from thuds of sweet chestnuts and conkers
Covering our heads at the tell-tale crash
As they batter through branches and leaves to the ground.
Gathering sticks, bark clutched to hearts
And long fingers curl around spindles
We're on our way to a bridge,
THE bridge,
On the edge of the Ashdown Forest.
Others have gathered there,
Throwing from one side,
Rushing to the other.
But today, the current is old and tired
Half dammed with the weight of children's fervour.
We add our own to that obstacle course,
Throw acorns to try and dislodge them,
Our reward arriving with squeals from the other side.
And then it's back,
Back through nuts and leaves
Climbing fallen trees
Investigating old dens
Clearing the path for clattering horses galloping through,
And home.

The meal

A restaurant picked on passing
Ordering unseen from the mind of the waiter
A quiche - Stilton, apricot...and something.
An innocent enough question, salad or garnish?
We plump for salad and the wait begins
Entertaining the children with stories from old magazines.
Time passes quickly enough,
Behaviour better than expected,
And then if comes,
Quiche lost in a heaving bounty of salad
Every vegetable imaginable dressed and coloured
Textures and flavours fighting and combining
Mouthfuls merged and new pairings discovered
The quiche is the jewel buried within
Name already forgotten, but to be discovered again.

A mermaid plays

Wooden skeleton, broken back,
Fish for friends in desperate lack
Of light beneath the ocean waves
Where wake and crest are long forgot save
The memory of the moon's pull still
Threaded through a thousand krill
And fins and flukes to reach
The place where a mermaid leached
Of colour rests with hand on harp,
Plucking eternal sonata notes
Each feathered with seaweed floats
Back to the light above where
Birds asleep on the ocean dream but care
Not for music, but carry those
Echoes in their cries.

The exhibition

Layers of letters
Architectural archetypes of the alphabet
Fonts of fun and future fruits
Carved and curved, carefully curated
Massive and minute, meticulously mingled.
We walk in wonder with white gloved hands
Peeling pages, perusing panels and pillars
Of ornament and ordered objects.
It's incredible.

Western

Hammers flick and flints strike sparks
Powder lit and then the fire
Fists thrown and baggage stolen
Running down the iron line.
Hidden actions in the darkness
Leap from roof to roof and down
With lithe movement step
And turn again avoiding law.
The winner takes the gold.

Book and beauty

Hallowed be the bookbinders
Stitch and gum the quarto leaves
Trim the facing edges
Revealing winter skin.

Fingers tremble over ink
Where fibres swell with that black blood
Like braille, nerves in ecstacy
Leap at roughs and smooths.

Pages turned with each full breath
Of old and new, of dust and lampblack.
Hold that heavy air, as the rush of capillaries
Cuts to the core.

And finally crack the eyes
And crack the spine, widening both
Extracting every energy of text
As from symbols pulled verbatim.

Hands and feet

They run and run
And all we can do is chase
An eternal truth
From age to age.
Big hands follow small,
Desperate to catch
Before they fall.
Boots and coats surround their warmth
And in the snow they overheat.
Drifting on the pearl-white thatch
Pink gloved fingers find the latch
And kitchen floors grow new damp feet.
Their laughter is its own reward
Play fighting as they call out names,
Hunched over the chopping board
I cut and catch their homespun games.

The season leaves

Bronzed and falling
Carpets of shimmering damp
Litter the path like phoenix tongues
Still steaming.
Step by step we tread them down
Discussing new life as we walk those bones.
A subtle skeleton
The softest I've known
Bone turns to mud, mud turns to stone.
Ring the change
Beat the Autumn drum
Of beech nuts and acorns
And low golden sun.

Oblivious accidents

Hard of hearing
Devoid of action
Clouds bereft of rain wheel by
He whistles at a passing plane
Shakes fists at chimney pots
As his chair creaks on.

The next day
Behind four bigger wheels
Too busy cursing at scaffolding
He doesn't stop
Doesn't brake
Doesn't even notice what he's done
Until the knock on the door.

Journeys in the dark

Feeling the lights as much as seeing them
The rhythm and rumble of rolling stock
Cities pass like fading scars
That crumble from your skin like rock.

There's a country out there somewhere
Writhing nature in the dark
Plants and animals alive
With hungry phloem and throbbing hearts.

And I can see electricity flickering
And flashing through the night
Floodlit buildings pulling focus
From the world outside my sight.

Every now and then I see
A clear reflection of my face
Hovering in that darkness
Like a spirit out of place.

And time stands still in winter
No quivering leaf or rippling lake
To break that frozen silence
And keep the world awake.

I close my eyes and close my mind
To any outside influence
Breathe out the worries of the day
And give myself to providence.

Artificial intelligence

Could a computer ever get bored?
Could it do things for its own reward?
Could it revel in bohemia
Or excel in academia?
Could it put itself to the sword?

Could a computer ever know love?
Could it look for meaning up above?
Could it discover its own id?
Would it go to war in our stead
Or fly the peaceful dove?

The Indolent's Prayer

Please let me get what I want
Let nobody else take it from me
Please let me get what I want
And let me get it for free.

Please let me succeed
Let me always take the easy route
Please let me succeed
And let all my dreams bear fruit.

Please let me be rich
I don't need millions, just enough for life
Please let me be rich
And have a beautiful wife.

Please let it all come soon
I'm not getting younger, I won't tell a lie
Please let it all come soon
I need it before I die.

The Space Cat

I once met a cat from outer space
Who said she'd been all over the place.

Past Reigel, Mars and Betelgeuse
In and out of comets' tails
Rode slingshot around Saturn's rings
With solar winds filling her sails.

She'd seen space dogs and aliens
And other creatures of that ilk
But maintained that the best thing in space
Was an ice cold saucer of milk.

...

Recruitment drive

Calling all heroes
Rich men or poor
Come and fight
For the man who gives more.
He's just won the fight
Against the viking hordes
He'll provide you with food
And possibly swords.
So come on, come all
Join up for the fight
With Harold Godwinson
Your true king by right*.

*King by his own right, some dispute.
Not all men will be given swords, please see your local liege lord for details.

The blacksmith

Strike fast as the glow fades
White to orange to dull red, then black
Black as the hammer that falls and falls.
Rebound, lift and redirect
Ring about the restless camp
On bellowed forge and squat block anvil.
Back on the embers, cover again
To perform the alchemist's trick
Of softening iron with heat and light,
Tapering and tempering
Until the edge sings for blood.

The writer

Building and breaking
A life spent in letters
Writing them down and tearing them up
Hands deep in verbal clay
Drawing form from primal mass
Sharp points and smooth lines
Created with purpose
Each word extruded
Lines constructed
And all for nothing.

Too Much

The cake was good
Too good for words
Which itself was good
As words were impossible.
Mouth so full
Fit to burst
But hands still grasp the next course
Eyes glazed over with sugar
Head aglow and buzzing
But it's so good.
A gulp of tea
Wash down what's left of the last
Before the next.
Stomach rebels but it's too late for that
Loosen the belt
Slouch to spread out
Flowing like icing over the chair.
The cake was good.

The evening dance

The evening dance wears them out
A ragged pas de deux
They take it in turns to lead the floor
And tonight it's her.

They kick and spin around the room
Tired but dressed to kill
Clattering on the wooden boards
Connoisseurs of the thrill.

She throws her arms around his neck
Tightening as she goes
He breaks her grip and staggers as
The music crescendos.

They hiss and spit around the room
He foxtrots into her
These final steps are always when
Most accidents occur.

The Clank on Shale

It was a dump,
A shack by the sea,
Somewhere to escape
From modernity.
An ancient place
Of rounded stone,
Cold and damp,
No one's home.
The water claimed
The floor and walls,
The sky broke in,
No roof at all.
And inside
In that black and white,
I sit and dream in colour,
And write.

The losing game

It's plain to see the pain between us
A disease that spreads from night to night
The cure is always out of reach
Should we give up without a fight?
We move between our comfort zones
Arguing over who is right
Like pieces placed upon a board
Reading rules in the half light.
We each have our special skills
To pierce the other's nervous plight.
Will I stab you in the back?
I say I won't, but then I might.

Cold clarity

The option is yours
Hands in pockets like an urchin
Fingers curled with the cold.
You chose a direction,
Who knows what method
Finger licked or sniffed on the air.
Foot follows footfall,
Twigs broken like echoed promises,
Impressions driven into ice grass blades.
The clouds are building,
Head held high into the heart of a thunderstorm you stride,
An accident of consequence.
Breath sucked as heels jar on frozen ground.
Clarity of thought and reddening skin.
You thought that clarity brough direction,
But that decision was made on a whim.

Mud, leaf and child

The field is full of acorns
Cupped and uncupped
Smooth as eggs.
We move amongst them
The slap and kick of wellies in the wet grass
And russet leaves rotting to fairy nets.
He climbs first, she follows fast.
He slides and shuffles low for safety,
A stick dug into the earth with every step.
She scrabbles and scurries,
Straight with no fear or heed of warning.
It's there to be overcome, for fun,
What's the use in worrying.
I am at the bottom,
Watching and waiting to catch them,
Mud, leaf and child.

Jerusalem

Taller than they have any right to be
Like stalagmites on a cave floor
They stretch ever upward.
A dark moss green
Ringed with flat leaves at every stage,
And at their crest
When they have reached as near to the sun as they can
A sudden burst of bright gold.
Whether they imitate that great star or reflect it,
I do not know,
But all that splendour is a glittering mask of distraction.
The real gold lies buried in the dark
Revealed with muddy hands
Pale, gnarled roots, obscenely bulging
Blind fingers reaching wildly in the gloomy loam.
These are the earth's prize.

The gathered meal

The food is arrayed
Places taken
Hubbub and happiness rattles the air
Bread is broken without solemnity
Crumbs drop and glasses raise
The family is together
In chaos and camaraderie
Flavours and tales intermingle
Hands take their fill as requests are cheerfully called
The warmth within radiates out
Puddings are passed around with impatient gusto
The orchestral clang of spoons on bowls
And drinks warm and bitter
Final clearing as youth disperses
And age digs deep into well-worn chairs
The creaking of wood and bone
Loosened belts; girth and mirth
There is nothing quite so good

The wind through the window

The In tray grows and grows
As fingers of wind riffle the pages
The steps are long
The door flung open
There is a voice
Ignored and acknowledged
As nib scratches
Head scratches
Cat scratches
The slam
The steps
The wind
Days are long and lived before and again
There are no lies, no truths
Just words floating on the wind

Daydreaming

Drifting from street to street
Where corners curve away uphill
Seeing the moon in the noon light
With the air skin-warm and still.

I see through an open window
A face young and serene
Catching my eye and turning away
Embarrassed to be seen.

Walking a little further
I glance o'er my shoulder once more
There's nobody there at the window
But her figure steps out from the door.

Nonsense

Curling tongues of hybrid fire
The case of love within the loft
Drying ice reeking of camphor
From the machine that never coughed.
The stairs that lead ever upward
Jugglers on each carpeted tread
The magpie's dream of gilded grains
And owls that twist and twist their heads.
All of this is written down
Sequins on the silken page
The gift of beauty bottled for you
So that you may never age.

The memory

The quiet man stood
Turned off the light
Rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger
Her image was there as it always was
Hair short and messy
Somehow animated in his mind's camera
He sees her in a crowd
The beacon of recognition draws her out
And she smiles
Silent in his dreams, but colourful
Then he opens his eyes to the wall.

The Torn Letter

The letter came between us
With its loosely gummed flap
That happened to fall open
As it dropped onto the mat,
And out peeked your notelet
Like a little pink tongue
And the scattered rose petals
It was nestled among.
I'm not saying it wasn't lovely
To get such a perfumed letter,
But a sheet of plain white paper
Might have been a little better.
I bent to quickly pick it up
But my hands were just too slow
As a high heel stamped on top of it
With your letter crushed below.
"I'll get that", she hissed at me
With a tone of molten metal,
As she lifted up her heel
revealing one poor skewered petal.
She opened up your missive,
Started reading it aloud,
"Who's 'Pinky-poo'?" She asked me
With the voice of a thunder cloud.
"Maybe it's for the neighbours?"
I stammered to my tie.
"Frank", she fairly poison-dripped,
"I do wish you wouldn't lie."
So I told her how I'd met you
On that holiday in Kent.
When I left early on 'business',
But that wasn't where I went.
And that next week I'd been planning
To book another trip
And that just that afternoon
I'd got the brochure for the ship.
She looked at me intently
As I told of our affair
And stood silent when I'd finished
While I cowered under her stare.
Finally she spoke and simply
Asked me "Is she better?"
And when I shook my head
She calmly tore apart your letter.
She strode out of the room
And that's the last I heard of it
So I gathered all the pieces
Every tiny little bit.
I've spent weeks out in the garden
Pretending to pot seeds
While instead I'm jigsaw-piecing
Every word that I can read.
I think that in my haste
There might be some bits that I missed
But I can read enough of it
To figure out the gist.
You said to meet in Dover
But I couldn't read the date
So I'll head down there tomorrow
And if you're not there I'll wait.
I hope it won't be too long
And I read your letter right,
As I've only brought enough food
To last me for one night.

Coffee, rain and the future before us

Coffee in the rain as the barges pass
And the river gurgles slowly by
Coffee and and a pot of tea,
We push the boat out, you and I.

Ravens drop from dripping boughs
Talons splash in gravel pools
They scream their throaty cackles
As the air around us cools.

Night pulls its curtain over the sky
And stars like popcorn burst awake.
You stand and move inside
I follow, always in your wake.

The light goes on behind your eyes
As you silence the light beside the bed,
Fearful in your symmetry
As tigers growl within your head.

I am a man made up of smiles
The night is ours to tame or let roar
Hand in hand we make our future
Yours and mine and nothing more.