Fly Girl

If you were a trout fly, I would tie you tight

I’m treble hooked in feathered flight

I love the way that water and your hair ignite

Exploding curls in ever expanding delight

Like ripples from a water kiss

Tempting rainbows from the abyss

 

Above, you are my kestrel kite

my shooting star at night

The sunlight on my skin

and  the warmth within

my love.

Altar

Pink foil outlasts the crumpled Chrysanthemums

On the corner of a red brick bridge

Fading like printed photos in the sun

Garage flowers, in crunchy cellophane

Blooming by the roadside

Shrunken balloons, scattered and slumped

Like the shell of a burnt out taxi

A box without sides

Leaking smoked memories

Like rainbows of oil

Peristalsis

A periodic table of dark varnished wood

Holds racks of ridged brown bottles

Releasing time streams from cupboards of fume

and florets of sweeping cilia.

From the Islets of Langherhans

Flowing down the duodenum

to a Golgi apparatus apportioning constants

from Planck to Avogadro

Deoxyribo

Nucleic acid.

 

Peristalsis

begins like Stevensons rocket

with bubbling tanks and valent ionics

The Medulla oblongata and Halogens

bonding noble gases to hydrogens

Bunsen burners leaking squeaky pops

dusting chalkboards and glassware

A relative atomic mess

on a periodic table top.

Here.

 

Tree

Like a stone ballerina,

Stands the lightness of centuries

With roots in ranges and valleys

draining an ocean of sanguine leaves

Sieving time with paper fingers

in submission to winds

A companion, holding firm on rigid rock

A restless monument in the maelstrom

A simple great mass

Exuding existence

Watching

The full moon over Blackheath dusk

is a hole

Cut through to daylight

Reflecting tweed and steam and an old mans ears

on the summit of my young London years.

A perfect waiting window above the suburbs

Following but not moving

Watching without eyes

In Grandma’s comet catching skies

A monastic bell clear through thick mountain mist

Hillsides in layers emerging

A whale rears through the surf surge sunset

Aeroplanes and cranes crowding veiled light in the siren strewn city.

When bare trees mark horizons

Will I remember sky smeared peach wheat fields?

Disassemble (breakdown)

Under wet rain of plane

Darkness is not coming

Just dusk in a long slow loop

Bird song broken to notes

Between rain drops, on every surface around me

one by one, note by note

falling slowly in to the darkness

Where sky becomes day and the ground night

 

The definition of new leaves

Swarm a bright light sky of night

To gather the ground up

and darkness down

 

High Pressure

Solid, heavy and hard

Strong red Rhododendrons

Stupa smoked cypress

Mountainous thunders crash

Lighting up the snowfield

Pressing in

Heavy and warm

Columbines

Hundreds of birds swirling and fat

Arrowheads of columbine

Pitching and curling

Boats bobbing on the air like a thought never landed

One that got away

To flap and battle winter winds

And plummet with the current

Lenses

A lone swan

hoom, hoom ,hoom

So low I can see it’s chest heaving with every pull against gravity

 

This evening I see the road lit living rooms of empty souls

Filled with terror

Like the view of a dream through windows, from the outside

 

Is this the real life

Within?

Without the Great Tit calls with seesaw clarity

succeeding a winter sheet, that has hung lenses from arching rose stems

That show a world upside-down