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silk and pepper

October 23, 2016

there has never been
this day before
but it is dressed in my
haunts and habits

who will I meet today,
who will I see
that will make it a day
unlike the others?

although clad in my
regular sights and sounds

it is still disarming to be
surrounded by such
instinctive generosity

silk and pepper,
threads and eyes,
a hand on a head,
a buzz on the line

there has never been
this day before
and never will again


October 23, 2016

a new set
begin again
rebirth on
empty page

the next chapter,
new colours and themes,
another pass at
sculpting with signifiers,
word pottery,
trying to make a dovetail joint

after a brief
cold turkey,
put off by the
commitment of
opening the next door

back after the 15 minute break
that maybe turned into 20,
back to the everlasting show,
the gig that keeps on giving

after a little abstinence,
a little penitence,
the gods of secret golden words
and our blessed lady of gilded moments
and the patron saint of alchemists
have had their amusement
and open the floodgates again,
and I open my arms,
throw back my head
and gladly anticipate
the drench and the drown

running deep

October 11, 2016

on a Monday morning,
like a new year’s resolution
the rain changes its habits
and gets up early

and so lie-a-bed,
and so daydream slowly,
with no surface tension,
but a little Brownian motion

one two three four,
like a rock’n’roll song,
counting small blessings
and little miracles
running deep

in the presence of the graceful

October 8, 2016

the blue with the white,
like a descended sky;
handsewn threads
weave conversations about the future

time in the presence of the graceful
will not change the world
but it can sparkle a quiet reminder of
the great and beautiful
joyous sadness of life

there will be no thwarted urgency here,
no lunging or diving;
in a month frequently full of roads and transitions,
a stillness is forming,
waters are running deep

no rush to understand and analyse
but rather be,
as being is what we are

time in the presence of the gracious
time in the presence of the grateful
time in the presence of the graceful

Watching ghosts dance

October 7, 2016

once I was young
and heard each song
fresh and undiminished

I weighed every phrase,
chilled sometimes by the
adultness of it,
as if watching ghosts dance

fuzzy shapes of grownup formed
in the spaces between the lines,
the hiding-in-the-cupboard voyeuristic thrill
of glimpses of what seemed to be real
embedded in a simple pop hook,
a sly phrase,
a tangential bridge,
a bombastic chorus

this next song –
will it tell me what I want to know?
will each word be true
for me

can I stretch the meaning of the lines
to cover this moment,
to make that prophecy?

ah, but no.
this song is not achieving
or futurism.
maybe the next one

I can still recall the feeling,
even if the illusions are long faded –
but then maybe this song can reignite them

ah, but no.
maybe the next one

mother tongue

October 6, 2016

speak to me any way you can
but sing to me in your mother tongue

there to hear the soil,
the honey,
the shadow and the light,
the sand and the velvet,
the bird and the beast,
the howl and the whisper

there to hear the weep and the giggle,
the caress and the slap,
the guts and the glory,
the loss, the break,
the joy,
the triumph,
the regret and the distance

there to hear the home and the hearth,
the stone and the wine,
the graft,
the harvest

speak to me any way you can
but sing to me in your mother tongue

Between rain and songs

October 3, 2016

slow creep
of hours
between rains
and songs

the gaps filled
with distractions,
old movies,
the probably not quite coffee,
watching the writhing spasms
of the painful adolescence
of this century,
dreaming up plans for the month,
the year,
the years to come

sweet is the sting
of anticipation,
sharp as the cat’s claw
when it interrupts to remind
of feeding time

the streets slowly fill again,
her feet will return to
grace the floor,
stepping elegantly,
no bruising of the air as she walks