Sunday April 22, 2012 § Leave a comment
Under copper sun
the secular glory of the sunshine
resolving what is holy in me,
so that there is something too, that is
resolved in the day
what is disclosed
torment of styles
enough that we may inhabit
allowed to be various
we are simplified
not fewer, but in harmony
crooked slate enclosing the
walk without desire
a touch of fire
Tuesday April 17, 2012 § Leave a comment
The sky is unsunned, blanked by significance
clouds lettering the empty page, incomplete
this town is a hunch
& you look surprised
as though each day you have discovered it afresh
a secret unlearned
how can we mitigate
the shambles of meeting
the longing that curves beyond our
still and helpful
less insistent because as a found thing we can
kid ourselves that it brings
Sunday April 15, 2012 § Leave a comment
whisky and coke
bravado ladders your last pair
of good tights
the cool hard drum of the extractor fan
the gentle grazing of
the electric shower
click: a power surge
I had not reckoned on such
Sunday April 8, 2012 § Leave a comment
Letters to JG
Can I write to you now?
Can I take the risk?
Can I take the risk either way?
i) New Year
Is it the way you rest a hand
Against your cheek? The wilful checking
Of a natural exuberance maybe, or is it something
More sombre, more true?
The premature morning light, caught here
Between the slats of the blind is certainly
Unforgiving, and you look tired.
Behind us, the room offers a summary of all
Our past departures, the casual reminiscences
Caught in all three dimensions, and how.
The shade considers us in more or less the same
Ways it always has; the generous lifting of
Some burden. This morning finds you much as it finds me:
that’s something, after all.
ii) On Briggate
Some change alright: the chalky acceptance of
The North. Another fiction. Entirely blotted out
By the snow, hesitant on the window ledge.
I received your letter. The sky is my answer,
However it finds you. Whether absent and without
Alternatives, or calm, tracking your quarry
Along Briggate your inky footsteps make a line
between us. How you make a virtue of your ephemera.
iii) At Your Place
I was never convinced by the limits you imposed
On yourself. Look at you now:
The way you reach for a plum, resting a stockinged foot
On the coffee table.
The way you answer the telephone.
Our secrets are temporary, we can concede that much.
iv) Who Loves You Baby?
Once, I thought I did.
Now I realise that I only
thought I did.
could not be
It is what
Thursday April 5, 2012 § Leave a comment
Another sunless morning
(mild, so I push open the kitchen window
there is no light in the mineral sky,
only fading to light
to dark blue, from darker blue,
but there is movement
as one, me and the boy turn in time to see through the kitchen window
a flock of birds spiral over the power lines,
there is the sense that this is the time in the day when
all the important transactions are made
Breakfast washing beginning beginning
Cleaning the windows, there is only so much
can be reflected back in them, they contain
only so much light, so many images –
There cannot be more in the world than
all else is refraction, and that not very helpful.
When you need to roast a ham, you really need to roast a ham.
Later, the old line reasserts itself (how familiar, how droll
exerts its tawdry spell
part frontier, part fault-line
I would best describe it
as a deep longing for that which
you actually have
So that you are at once placed outside yourself, the
only resort to stall this drought of the heart
a stance, crooked in the line of the sun
Reading Olson today:
“There are necessities/are bigger than we are”
with all the light gone
Tuesday April 3, 2012 § Leave a comment
Not new poems, but written earlier this year, on a trip to Seattle.
gull exposes perspective
for the sham that it is
moon like a shark’s eye
glimpse apricot sun
its like a jack vettriano print,
the concave light from the standard lamp, framing neat
and melon through
and that textured like rice cake
the shadow appalling
you can’t have it both ways,
if you can hear that car-horn in the street outside
then you’re just not trying hard enough
the silence of rain falling
softly on the lime sidewalk
heavy the silence of the light
Sunday April 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
Tonight there is the smell of
on the air. A
yeasty sort of self-reliance
and defiance, likely
as unreliable as it is
and foolhardy, the greater selfishness
the long sight of
memory. The town has crowned
its sons with
resignation, its secret life relieved,
of birds. And now slowly
it grows dark.