12 December, 2012

Friday December 14, 2012 § Leave a comment

                                                                         regard         the lip of rust coloured rain water
                                                                                                  in french sunshine your eyes
                                                                                                         are loose transmissions,
                                                                                                             moments of purchase
                                                                                                that advertise your intactness
                                                                                     moving sleekly off the compass that
                                                                                                                  is Edgware Road

                                                                         teeth full of treason,
                                                                             red, teary morning, stooped to the shade
                                                                                          of your clipped & martial brilliance

A34, Near Abingdon (7 December, 2012)

Monday December 10, 2012 § Leave a comment

We attempt too much
and so the inexorable march into the light relents without us,
and we are brokered in the peace
spread like heat
across the exposed flank of the land
the apricot fringe
rough, and untethered silence
and you speak into the pause, without malice
and I am grateful for it

 

 

Atlantic Weather (23 November, 2012)

Saturday December 1, 2012 § Leave a comment

If the morning is a success, it is only because of a
less than calculated downgrading of risk, & its
attendant factors, a stolid reckoning stubbornly
suborned out of the little cramped sunshine there is,
taut and striped along the building edges, a bluesy
rendition of Atlantic weather that by lunch is
orchestral. High music and low science converge in
the vapour trails, the day’s panicked accents
relenting in the encyclopaedic phrase they contain.
We are counting on a certain grace, untested in un-
certain times, and we refuse to be surprised. What is
left out of such calculations, the unrewarded
moment, surely less than its parts, that would leave
you, like the gyres of steam looping from the
passing train, slack with wonder, if you’d allow it.
Practicality is the only alibi worth the candle.

Blue darkness of dusk (22 November, 2012)

Saturday December 1, 2012 § Leave a comment

Blue darkness of dusk crowds
the junction; what would pass
for frost migrates one palm at a
time, and describes an inability
to inhabit, fully, time, as from the
right a lorry explodes in its tracks,
a reminder of the heat lost in the
transaction, & its refinement, & the
sacred quality of your hands upon
the wheel is deliberated upon, &
scattered in approximation of loss.
Later, you are thinking only of the
green thirst of morning, I can tell,
garbage, & the glib diner, anchored
in the future in passive laughter.
You ought to be more daunted, not
substitute your pale dreams of transport.
The whole circuit is narrowed by
rising finance, what we might call the
price of doing business, laundered
against a backdrop, and the entire
scene gerrymandered by the theory
of reach, whose patrons are left outside
of the light that fills your return.
Why always the need to apprehend –
there are worse things. Driving home
your exit is less a brink, than a limit,
an enticement you are generous enough
to resile from. The great difference being
that only one can be thought a last resort,
& properly, this situation calls for neither.

rain like my sorrow

Friday October 26, 2012 § Leave a comment

rain     like my sorrow, pools in vacant
spaces,  and is temporary,
             like the habitual voyeur, loose
             of menace

 stow the raucous paucity of the heart –
       anyway, only a piston giddy out of range
                        behoved to no-one
only mesmeric in the cartoon lash
                 of its own mechanics
                 like a blond auxiliary
    dull of means

or a bankrupt saint
   humble for the
     wrong reasons

 – resign your habits, blank spectres
the glow, the march, the water

and the fair-minded girls
telegraphed smiles
            and the
            bell rings:

18-19 October, 2012

Friday October 19, 2012 § Leave a comment

               
                 Start from the day’s glacier,
                 wind up inside of what

                 was blank. Walk your
                 equator like a tightrope,
                 into the white entertainment,
                 sodium glare of dawn
                 stored in your surfaces,
                 what will be beyond you by
                 sundown, inside your rigour,

                 inside the jealous zero
                 of your expiry. And water.
                 Slack with current & sunset,
                 & the shy quarantine of
                 evening’s lightless moments,
                 the dumb mirror. Multitudes
                 contain you. A heart,
                 proud equinox slurred,
                 what else, without you
                 is certain. Silence builds
                 like a fire, wrinkling 
                 the warped skin of
                 your composure. Night,
                 scorched furlongs of ocean
                 freeze to bind your romance
                 to the stars. Stolen love,
                 the heart’s brief asylum
                 unlearned. Certainty melts
                 away like the crisp waves
                 hailing the weather. Dawn
                 showers light the ocean,
                 & signal your reprieve, for
                 another day, even as it
                 returns you, without favour,
                 to what you are not.

Stay With Me (19th September, 2012)

Friday October 5, 2012 § Leave a comment

 

Curator of happenstance
brooding on your locales,
    rain freckles the nightstand,
       the grasshopper unlighted
                       limbs
                                of chance

        why not locate the spinning discus
                                          of timid brightness

                                                 torn
                                         into
                             being

splinters & hoarfrost

& the linctus sundrop blotches
against what housing is available, soon
to disguise your refrain

     here in your rooms, the richly patterned
absence of crisis.

 

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing the A Diary, 2012 category at .