our marble and our clay

a peace
too dear for my possessing
yet lingers on the periphery
in certain hours

when my ghost
floats through the space
brushing surfaces and
rhapsodising the room

the lessons of living chip away
at our marble and our clay
we hope that we are approaching slowly
a truer self, a place we’d like to stay

looking for camouflage, spotlights,
exits, nooks, trees, ambrosias,
running water, dancing moons

and softness
always softness

better in the rain

the elegant turns of the street corners
frame progress through the
untidy streets

the gods have their candy
the rats have their holes
the cats have their kittens
the nights have their perfume
of street food and petrol fumes
and bright, bright lights

in our public caves
the beer tastes better in the rain
and we are going nowhere for now

contemplating the quiet joy
of a clean floor
and all that that references
as this daylight hastens
to broaden

new sheets for new jottings

for the friend on the occasion of his common or garden birthday

came to play
and stayed
through what we thought was trauma
but was only growing pains

the pain long gone but
the love now well worn

nights long with song
and wine and mystification
mountaineers together we still climb

to the good times, brother,
we raise our glasses
to the good times
long may they run

Hat-ism

hmm, so a new hat
hmm

perhaps hats are like tarot decks:
for greatest efficacy they should
be gifted to you

my cells have now
been replaced after
seven years of the battered hat
that was
to be fair
pretty battered when it was
gifted to me
one night on stage at Slur Bar

it was a real hat replacing
a long, long run of
tourist hats that
never seemed to want to stay

a change
and the world did not
collapse in shock
perhaps the world
has other issues at present

the silhouette remains
only slightly altered
so I will not go unnoticed
for better or worse

the size is definitely an improvement
the battered hat was always
just a little too tight
and the new one
has ventilation
intended rather than through wear

the battered hat
has survived
France and Hong Kong
and worst of all
Australia
it has been squashed
left in tuk tuks
been blown off while on
the back of motos
it has earned
its retirement

so yes
a new hat
under which
the brain will cook
for some more years to come
for better or worse

 

Siem Reap, August 2020

walking in the old town
that I first knew
wishing that I could afford all the
massages and tuk tuk rides I am being offered
though they need the money more than I:
they ain’t selling too many elephant pants these days

the less the throng
the more the space,
and once the sprawl had stretched
the bounds of containment
but now there’s too much of nothing

shutters/house for rent/gone

I wander behind my nose
guided by disjointed memory:
13 years now of
when was I at this place,
with which beer
or which coffee
or which margarita afternoon
and with who?
my past Siem Reap tour companions,
I wish you well
so far down the line

the surface is like a lined,
lived-in face;
outward signs of
an inward struggle

folk still mill around the food vendors
sprinkle through the mobile coffee stalls
but deep in the market it’s cold and still

Cambodia, it appears,
continues to take its beatings
with a shrug and a shy smile,
consoled by family
ritual
karaoke
beer
and endless snacking
for those with a couple of thousand riel in hand

but surely I project –
I really know so little of how it all works,
with my dozen phrases and
ability to count as far as 20
as I continue to hope to find
the half of one percents
that might contribute
day by day
to my chosen Cambodian families

so it’s another day of staring into the future
with hopeful heart despite,
remembering that one day
this day will be
one of the memories
that I will recall

with beginner mind

to arrive at the start
with beginner mind
with kitten eyes
and puppy paws

at the water’s edge
feet bare in wet sand
and smooth waves testing
and retesting their mark

misplaced time now recovered
and laid open for view
see how it sparkles
on the water

step by step
with beginner mind
carried like reading glasses
to be used where appropriate
to avoid freezing and cramps

analogy

my flipflops
have tiny bells
attached,
so I can be
sonically detected
by those around me

however
I cannot hear them,
my hearing being
compromised by
years of headphones

the question
then arises:
what else am I missing?

 

 

it takes a village of saints

Saint Agatha for bakers and bell makers
Saint Joseph of Cupertino for poor students and test takers
Saint Anthony for missing persons and lost things

Saint Marculf against scrofula
Saint Alexius for belt makers and nurses
Saint Hyacinth for those in danger of drowning

Saint Mark the Evangelist for Egypt
Saint Rose of Lima for Peru
Saint Louis for Mauritius

Saint Quentin for chaplains, locksmiths and tailors
Saint Zita for servants and waiters
Saint Sebastian for athletes and soldiers

Saint Valentine for…. beekeeping

Saint George for the English, Saint Joan for the French
Saint Patrick for the Irish, the Nigerians and the engineers

Saint Eligius for taxi drivers, farriers and farmers
Saint Frances of Rome for automobile drivers
Saint Genesius for actors and comedians and clowns

Saint John of God for nurses and sellers of books
Saint Martha for dietitians and cooks
Saint Raphael the Archangel for doctors and shepherds
and matchmakers

Saint Joseph against doubt and hesitation,
for travellers and the pregnant,
for Vietnam and Cambodia

Saint Rene Goupil for anesthesiologists
Saint Helen of Constantinople for archeologists
Saint Quirinus of Neuss against smallpox and gout

Saint Pancras against cramp, headache and perjury
Saint Michael against dangers at sea
Saint Christina the Astonishing against insanity

Saint Harvey against eye diseases
Saint Baldus against cold weather
Saint Rocco for second-hand dealers and grave diggers,
against knee problems and skin diseases

watching over benignly, standing by to assist
it takes a village of saints

sunday haiku

it cost me naught
a small generosity
and it made someone
cry

 

 

DRF

barely with us
and yet so loved

we gather in joy
with a touch of awe
almost as if surprised
that it really happened

witnessing a tenderness
arriving at the start of the third act
in a season of the unexpected

if we were looking
for signs of hope
(and surely we are)
we could hardly
ask for more

love triumphs
in the face
of the absurd