You came from that Nether-world of amber light that place where clowns and cuckoo’s rest half asleep waiting for the lovers that only you could carry. You were ‘Country Rose’ full of slum street blossom and Sun Street enigmas That wasted road that seemed to have no end, the summer heat of India rubber smells. […]
Dressed for a funeral, the blackbird glides its way in the freedom of the skyway to where no danger only clouds, hide their glory. A kingdom of escape, a fathered sky, where no car engine frightens God’s décor. Feeding against the wind is hard, and so the blackbird comes to the roadway for breadcrumbs and
Like a speck of sand, we live in motion and time. The requiems of youth follow us out to the estuarial lands, – and the beach path to endlessness. I am walking in a great mystery, a mystery that levels the distance between right and wrong, good and bad, haves and have nots. A man
In the London autumn rain, he walked into the flamboyant fashion shop on Carnaby street – 1964. It was a London at peace with itself, pencils of the sun warming wet clothes. A strange clock chimed in the corners of infinity, a vast array of passengers perhaps nothing more than a thought in the eternal
(A poem inspired by Charlie Chips) LABOURER on the Suffolk fields, cycles of sunrise to sunset. Seeking out the unseen tides of the mind, lusting for The sweet sleep of the labourer. In the soul centre of the wandering fields he hears the Suffolk hymn Sang in the tonal beauty of home winds welcoming ……….
Time, that makes these earth born dreams seem like eternities rainbow. Over the horizon, dancing platitudes and exhausted hope, words exhaled from meaningless heartbeats. “Go this way” shouts the boss-eyed Counsellor Freudian junkie with a speech impediment. “If only this fear would you leave me!” He has 100,000 thoughts in the chaos of kaleidoscope chance.
Tinsel on a Christmas tree, plastic people on a toy merry go round Stilted structures, celebrations ordered by authorities that feared freedom, and the wisdom of the hopeless labourer? I have seen the misery in those ordered to: “Stand here, Smile now, do not speak” A military society more controlled than trained soldiers! Ice minds
There is an aching in the deep centre of being,That calls out to a homeland at some dark distant place.In child like hope we searchbeyond the blue horizon,for a Netherland Peter Pan landscape.In our mind this hope lingerswhere once a child was abandoned,sand castles are washed awayby the ancient tides,where the souls of old salty
On a hilltop, the Suffolk laborer works the harvest without a question why?The rich man’s children walk over the unmarked graves of plague families. A storybook picture on a pure unadulterated English landscape, I am just believing, I am the picture. “Stuff that dreams are made on”, flesh built on bones of sin with no
In the sea of grief I see the lone soldiers full of bloodless hope.They walk a vast array of spirit fields where human ruin faces fragile mirrors.There is a place beyond tears and solitary rain. Oh my friends never let the theatre of human endeavour fool you into thinkingyou can trust! “Love hide thy face!”