the un-bunging of a career
they told me the road was long
but offered me no maps
they told me I would struggle
but didn’t mention it would mostly be
with myself
they told me rewards were to be had
but they were mostly rewards
that made no sense
they told me about the luck of the draw
but they didn’t tell me how lucky were
the circumstances of my birth
they told me there were options
but ignored all the best ones
probably because they didn’t know
they told me there were paths
but they showed me the wrong ones
again, probably because they didn’t know
and so I learned to keep my own counsel
and so I learned to look past the labels
and so I learned to filter both the foolish and the wise
and so I learned that one’s tie is another’s noose
and so I learned that one’s vinegar is another’s wine
and so I learned that one’s safety is another’s cage
thus
phoenix
life gives them to us
and then takes them away
the braver they come
the more they are missed
the larger they live
the harder it is to believe that they have left
turn up the amps
to drown out the silence
there are some failures of the heart
that must always be forgiven
because the countless inspirations bear the fruit
of the enormous heart’s ceaseless ceaseless ceaseless
beat
watercolour
the colours of the water
blend, like the surface of
a watercolour
against blue green reproductions
of ancient Chinese
wilderness landscape inks
ripping with shadows
of wind and gentle
curving of the relentless
turndown of advancing water
backpacks trudge across sand
in a socialmedia foreground that
got them here
will propel their stay
and get them safely back
and still they come
and still they leave
across the watercolour bay
of ancient tones
that was beautiful long before
I got here
playfully the greens
chase the blues
back and forth
rolling in and out
moment by moment
as we watch the moments
pass each other
gradually coming back
from where they’ve been
around the watercolour bay
that was beautiful long before
I got here
would we have a mind
like Li Po
waking from drunkenness on a spring day
thence to go on to attempt
to kiss the moon’s reflection
and drown
adding our colour of wine
to the water
and die happy?
sunday
unroll me open a sunday
and glow it with sunshine
dust it with the kinds of things
that slow the hours to
frozen treacle speeds
whip me up a sunday
with a sprig of mint
and a hint of lemon
in a long tall glass of let’s not get up just yet
pass me a sunday
woven through with nows
and strums and poems like grapes
little juice balls with a lingering aftertaste
ah yes, linger me a sunday
by all means
the thunder – redressed
upon waking launch
coming soon
