Coming home - New original poem

Coming home

It’s not a marriage

what we have is more sacred

transcending broken vows

closer than being naked

she underlies my skin

and clouds

my thinking all the colours of

Ireland

knitwear and witches

and decorates the corners of

my room

and she can count the phases of the moon

divine my fireball

and sweep the clouds from heaven

on a broom

ancient as the stones is our connection

and older than my bones

she’s the exception

to my feeling of going it alone

starved of affection

her love

on this prison planet strong as a taste

of home

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To the silence

You are here

but you are not here

you are there

but you are not there

you who can threaten

to fall anywhere

land on anyone

after the blast

you are the sound

rising from nowhere

struck like a child

hovering like a cloud

enveloping everyone

and speaking for none

you who give voice

to everything that isn’t

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New Poem - Dawn Recall

Dawn recall in Late afternoon

I have been awake over nine hours

although it is now entering late afternoon

it started in a mist of pre-dawn fear and trembling

but with a twist and turn

I face the rising sun and the crisp cold morning

hit the pharmacist to score my gear

turn my thoughts to writing

tune ear and spirit to the sound of Winter sunrise

train my ever tired eyes to the earth’s ideas

and ride the thermals like the kites

who swerve and thrive upon the breeze

and dive like meteors

scavenging the beach for carcasses and bones

    

Masterclass for the underclass

Masterclass for the underclass

I have learned profoundly truths

about myself and others

the entity I have become under such conditions

as would make a stone carving recoil

I have seen the relativity of the foil

pitched against the certainties of the pin

I have seen the value of human waste

reduced to the bucket they throw them in

bare faced sucker punches

straight theft

the non-sophistication of the grift

the lack of creativity or ingenuity

the non existence of thrift

among those with the least

but no shortage of animal cunning

as rumours abound

and the misery tap remains running

I go underground still

where the fact remains urgent

metaphysics holds sway

and those without a GCSE are ridiculed away

    

New Poem - Long Spires

Long spires

The cars glide placcidly down

the centre of Great Darkgate street

and the sickly hint of moon

hanging on to the hillside

lends a sticky yellow light to the town

not so much a rain as a falling mist

dampening the rooftops

contributing to the drainpipes rust

as the walls wear down

and the green that grows

makes its way to the road henpecked

by groups of folks or pigeons

minding their steps

as they walk zig-zagged across

parked car and motor zone

as lost as leaves and the towering

of rain-spattered long spires

    

Fourth Collection of Poetry - "Strings and Arrows": Out Now!

    

Take Cover - New Reading

Take Cover (or On his apocalyptic visions

coming true)

My entire adult life has been

a crisis of confidence

the doubt that comes with being radical

morally bound and intellectual

filling out my sails for a minute

crushing me for years

is not a thing that can be taught

only confirmed

and tested with the heart’s corroboration

in this way we dissolve entire nations

carved up before we were born

trace the lines my arms have mirrored

and sacrifice dawn

and all the while the storm rotates

the violence is twenty four hours

I keep my head down in the rain

like a bunch of flowers