waiting
the sweet art of doing nothing at all
the meditation like a pot preparing to make steam
listening as the hum of thoughts slows
to quiet
momentum relinquished to calm
everybody is going somewhere right now
except me
I’ve got a wonderful feeling
everything’s going away
exposed on a busy corner
yet safe out here
in the rugged world of slings and arrows
nowhere to be but here
waiting for a haircut
and hush
there it is: the sound of boiling water
after haha
and so after haha, then what?
still plenty to do and
plenty of time to do it in
may cold days be seldom
may cold beers be sufficient
may bureaucrats be kept at bay
there are still languages to be wrestled with
not least English
and songs as yet unwritten
now that search has been abandoned as a mode of operation
one has learned to wait
intermittently alive to a chance encounter
with the perfect contour that begs to be kissed
that one begs to kiss
a song upon the lips
Love as a rhythm, love as a dance
love as a waltz
a march
a twist, a tap, a tarantella
love as a gospel trance
a tango
a Virginia Reel
love as a calypso
a ballet
a mambo, a foxtrot
love as a Charleston
a mashed potato
love as a vamp
a long, anticipating vamp
love as a Lindy Hop
love as a soft shoe shuffle
a watusi
a Madison
love as a quadrille
a jive and stomp
a boogie
a cakewalk
love as a macarena
a skank
a jig
love as a Black Bottom
a romvong
love as a rain dance
Volume 14 now available: then outwards to the world
chasing fragments
revelations pending
or not
a hint
a humming silence
a shifting shadow
of a fundamental reset
or more of the same
a phantom
a lost suggestion of
what may never occur
still trying to find ways to adapt
without resorting to relocatory protocols
to wait for the avalanche
or seek to peek through the cracks in the wall
that admittedly might prove to just be
childish scribbles on the surface
embrace or wait for one’s turn to embrace?
the embrace alone will tell whether
that was the right move
hide recuperate rearrange and reassess
and then once again
outwards to the world
funny that
funny that
there was a time
when labels were something to be avoided
they were a way to keep
the labelled in their place
then the labelled struck back
and started to wear their labels with pride
now the labellers are jealous
and want their own labels
on the source and nature of ideas
ideas come big and small
and throughout and wholly withal
some larger than one person can comfortably carry
others slipped in between the pages of slim volumes
to be discovered by the next reader
some are more awkward than heavy,
requiring greater attention to balance
or perhaps a better angle to manoeuvre
through a narrow doorway
some fall with the rain
chasing drops
escaping clouds
dissolving in puddles
yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of earth
I know the trilobites and sabre-toothed deer have trodden the path before
and also that the lillies of the field are still with us
they do not grieve over the passage of time
mind you they don’t sweat or fart
or take a calming glass on a Thursday afternoon either
there are ideas swift and apt
and ponderous and late
ideas that come embarrassingly early
before the party hosts are appropriately prepared
and so suffer the dull thunder of conversations
forced rather than flowing
there are ideas flat and ideas swollen
sometimes they require careful unfolding
and there are ideas that turn out
not to be ideas at all
or flashes of insight that
somebody sparked already
elsewhere, elsetime
yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of birth
awaiting the drop of the next boot
along the path of the inevitable
I do not hang my head but rather risk being run down
looking above me at greenleaf skies and frozen music arches
and the laughter in passing faces
surely there is more danger in ignoring such
flourishes of delight
ideas come black white and brindle
multicoloured and grey
psychedelic and muted
tumbling through windows like distracted clowns
through doors like disoriented birds
through villages like skateboarders looking for their tribe
and some just lie around waiting to be found or overlooked
forgotten or recalled
taking it easy, man,
taking it easy
I’ll be ready when they call
the great drunken square dance of life
Let healers be healers
And drunkards be drunkards
And scribblers scribble and occasionally share their lines
Let balcony dwellers dwell on balconies
And let drummers drum at appropriate times of the day
Let children make mischief so that they see
Where mischief may lead
Let the isms and the ologies stew in their own juices
Let them be allocated short periods of time
To elucidate their arguments in controlled environments
Let there be penalties for those who TALK IN ALL CAPS
In built-up areas – at least restore their sense of hearing
Or temporarily attentuate mine
Let dogs be dogs and keep them away from me
Let cats be cats except under stages
Let luddites be – just let us be
Let ranters rant
It doesn’t last long
Even this one is almost over
Let us all sing and let us all dance
In our own way
And let us swap back and forth
In the great drunken square dance of life
welcome to the show
of the creatures of the night
fish on the sand
but maybe George already?
I’ll believe it when I see it
with my own iceballs
unreleased latent ambition:
to play a dead body on a TV show
17, 19, 27
flip the switch and away we go
some forgettable song
about two minutes too long
Billy cable
Bar Oz
lady drink eyes
mosquito spray
Walk Away Renee
odd times of the night
the personality preferences that once provided structure for
earlier seasons
earlier ages
accumulate in uninvestigated corners
as useless as abandoned telephone numbers
or indeed abandoned telephones
once existed as the architecture of our character
whether we needed them or only thought we did
now just jumbles of doovas and thingummies
thick with dust
a rummage in the suitcase or storage box
finds many of them useless now
but with a veneerish glow
reminding how important we once thought they were
strange to think that a hill
we once would have fought to the death for
can become so lost
its ghostly absence only lingering
in remembrances
at odd times of the night
thesilverpepperofthestars 