Personal request
for what my heart held clear And didn’t have the wit to show For what my path proposed And got lost in its diversions For what my beginnings dreamed And my ends cannot lay
Legs rivers and age
with landbound legs a wish For the easy flow of a river – not The clambering up crags to seek More favour from the sun (or long-haired moon) harped for Since those sparks of
Shocked
the cupboard was done up On the outside In the brightest of colours The house it was part of Was filled each day With its loud exclamations The sun looked in gladly One morning
Absinthe and stained glass
(i) Absinthe makes the hurt grow fonder The green fairy burbles what’s this ‘ere When vincent (sozzled) knifes his lug off All spirits then succumb to fear Depression takes the gloss off wonder And
Daft icarus
it began as a secret desire (an itch In the marrow too vague to get through To the bone) an idea that never could Make it as flesh – there wasn’t a part of
Snowdrop blaze
from late december onwards the day comes back But not till february do we see those glimpses That let us take deep darkness off the rack And shake it free of lethargy that cramps
At the sixty-ninth station
(after hiroshige – stations of oi) Here at the sixty-ninth station Of the gregokaido road I have a sense of completion That is not completed yet The long journey to this moment Has many
Sublimely
you may get fed up with me She says (seing herself slightly) Fearing old age in a woman Must render her blightly Old age’s eyes he thinks See only old-agely She lifted him from
The arrival of spring (cathe waller)
on the last day of winter i went to bed Harsh winds rainstorms beating my head Houses trees with a sucked-out look New year flaked from the old one’s hook Then overnight such a
Handyman
the two hands of me make inimical gestures That only long after betray the one tune Though they have the same taste in throats They go to their crime disgusted with kinship The right
Bird of fire – a caution
the dream of the white bird flying Offers a freedom as tasty as nectar How our lips purse to the goddess’s pap At the want of such swoops through the air To be rid
It was once called
it comes like a convict Squeezing through bars And is gone before The promptest siren It suddenly turns In the ear or rides The eye of a thought Before dissolving I have it in
Snail and spiral
i take my property with me says the snail Slow-moving (yes) but packed with sublime thought The house upon its back some kind of grail Vulnerable to brute boot – and wisdom bought By
Peach-power
peaches exude this thrall – Reminders of those luscious Whereabouts that lips Best find their precious sips To cry let this be all They lull so well endowed With dreams of wanting flesh Who
Hawthorns and the like
as the landscape falls away The hawthorn in its gnarly fashion Is content to stand alone Berries (the very tint of passion) That birds are wont to feed upon Bloodstain the shortened day A