Beyond the moon

Beyond the Moon

Beyond the moon, three-quarters full and floating
boating
white cotton sheets hang on the horizon
and next-door but one,
ghosts bleached by the sun 
four shells misaligned in a square
cockles, scallop, sea snail
are calling forlorn through the half-open door
begging the tide to turn

October 2015, Calella de Palafrugell.


 

Buenos dias, Catalonia

Buenos dias, Catalonia

The sea in the  morning's breathing
like a giant, happy in her sleep
untroubled by dreams piratical, or merbabies 
dancing in schools, unruffled,
only a  few white manes flying, along the rocky shore
but otherwise a rhythmic inspiration, expiration,
lulled I'd say
by Charles Trenet
la mer, qu'on voit dancer
the shush, the whoosh
the sun above, shining in through slats
buenos dias, Catalonia
good day.

October 2015, Calella de Palafrugell

Certain from day one

Certain from day one

It's not often nowadays I get to lie and watch you
me wake, you sleeping
for as we've aged and no more
early-wailing babies/ clocks
are set to start our days
you've turned full lark, to my nocturnal bird;
but in the half light, dawn through shutter slats
creeping in fingers
your four-square profile, forehead, nose and chin
still straight, though softened, obviously
provokes a memory from first discovering days
spring 1970, before you knew
(me on the other hand, certain from day one) 
you're driving and I'm pretending otherwise
but cannot look away
forehead, nose and chin.
I'm dazzled, mesmerised
unable to believe this, my good fortune
my new man, become, though still a  miracle
(my reward or perhaps entirely undeserved?)
but now and always, my old man 
best-beloved, 
dearest dear. 

October 2015, Calella de Palafrugell. 

Ballerinas perched on stilts

Ballerinas perched on stilts

Although I've craved the balm of pen on paper flowing
clear page filling line by line, and in the end
some kind of rounding, resolution
yes, that's what I meant, or near as words can come
encompassing the thing
still I've shunned the life poetic, kept the pen on purpose capped
for I'm fearful and I'm flinching
for I know where it will lead

I can write of days of Autumn
rust red supermoon eclipse
blue grapes snipped and piled in buckets
salt flats shining, salt like snow
those elegant flamingo, balancing on stilts
and stepping through the water with a ballerina's grace

But I'll slam the gate on monsters
Here be dragons!
Look away!
Turn my face from what is lurking
run like hell before they roar

Let my mind be full of Autumn
snow flats shining, salt like snow
and the palest pink flamingos
ballet dancers  perched on stilts

October 2nd 2015, Hounoux, for Lyn, my fellow-dragon slayer.

So though I carry poetry

So though I carry poetry

I've mostly been a fan of words, a dialect devotee
smiled at nuances in accent, syntax subtlety 
an apostrophe well-placed
I've put my faith in language, believed in le mot juste
conjured like a waiter with a click, and apt
to cheer or comfort, soothe or clarify,
but lately I'm not so sure
for more and more they fail me, don't answer at my call
and even marshalled artfully, their power appears to wane.

So though I carry poetry and crossword-solving's my delight
I see that there are times, non-stop rolling catastrophic, on the news
or quiet whispered down the line
when grief's abyss is opened up
to Lear's appalling howl,
never never never never never
no words
just nothing to be said. 

July 30th 2015, Brighton and Hounoux 
   

May 8th 2015

May 8th 2015

This time, like news of grief
about to hit, tsunami on its way
and all of us but bobbing flotsam
going under
the tolling bell, doom in the knell
dread in the exit polls.

So, sick at heart and sicker
we wordless took to bed
enough said
opting for oblivion
news blackout, curtains drawn
and lovely the nightingale sang. 

June 14th 2015, Hounoux.

Rounded like an egg

Rounded like an egg

Bold unbowed
her curve and camber lovely
as an S
arc and bow and bend
swells and folds, rolled
rounded like an egg
and all the world within

5th May 2015, Hounoux