shapes
shapes
in muted light
sprawled
weighted
a smile
a question
an answer
an unexpectedness
wash away
wash away
and return to the day
let the air
be as still
as it was
just then
these are the days
these are the days
such as they are
hitting our marks
through the gathered routines
fighting our demons
each personally assigned
these are the days
such as they are
this year’s model
new flavours wash through
guided by the past
but you won’t find me
hankering for yesterday
these are the days
such as they are
coloured by recurrent themes
and the strivings of others
returning by loops
to well-worn desires and
cadences of semi-regret
these are the days
such as they are
that keep turning up
suns between moons
sunlight between brightlights
songs within songs
nights within nights
mind the gap
and the gap grows ever wider
and the gap grows wider still
the chase is gone
now it’s trudge and glide/
trudge and glide
what were peeves – yapping dogs, Queen, smartphones
people driving too fast, people talking too loud –
are calcifying into rants and judgemental sneers
I’m starting to hear my old man mannerisms
and rumbling ramblings
am I headed for honourary uncle
while still feeling like everyone’s little brother?
tramping the metropolis
I hawk my baubles
like sunglasses and bangles
and then repeat
and then repeat
and the gap grows ever wider
and the gap grows wider still
a scattering of rain
has turned into a full throated run
and the front tables are no longer hospitable
I nurse some wine and
read from a book of essays
while I wait for a friend
and try to ignore the loud rabble
of older men proud of their
cleverness and drunkenness (you see??)
rare glimpses of golden twilight on
the walls that look abandoned
as the street prepares for its
lurid transformation into night
in time we will drink wine and
in time we will go off
in different directions
as it is in the ways of human society
tomorrow the rain may stop us somewhere else
unless, of course, I am shot while trying to escape
breeze
I am blessed
I look out on a tree
it is swaying now
in the whipping wind
that signals the coming storm
rain will drop
a softened brutal loudness
that brings pauses
even as we move on
for now it is
a strange quiet
as things twist and turn
and bend and glide
in intermittent breeze
and the sky
dapples its white with gray
and I must turn on the light
in my cave
the healing pools
the healing pools
in which I lay
healed the wounds
but still the scars
the healing pools
in which I bathed
made me strong enough
to understand my weak
the healing pools
in which I swam
I started with that
and she seemed to say
yes, start with that
early morning rain
comes the early morning rain
like a fanfare
an announcement of the day
and the times to come
insistent on the roof
insistent on the ground
insistent as the rituals
carried out in tents
and associated areas
seeking permanence
in the face of impermanence
and denial
and the sweeping tides of change
that are as regular and variable
as any other tides
doing their part to shape the coastline
carved by the sea
sometimes a windswept promontory
sometimes a peaceful shining bay
it seems there is a tent and a party
by the glinting sands of the bay
where colourful costumes
cut with glittering gold
accompany rituals of almost
pantomime tradition
in honour of permanence
in the face of impermanence
and denial
and the sweeping tide of change
that no longer keeps us up at night
nor sends us into tailspins of longing
instead there is waking
under the fanfare of
the early morning rain
the announcement of the day
and the times to come
hello again
you floated into mind
in the middle of a song
and blew it into life
that dusty tune
and blew it into life
that dusty tune
