1042 - In Ireland 4 - Sheep's Head

I woke up in a red car in Bantry
I walked around the town, around the bay
Around the bend, past the camp of gypsies
The Cork and Kerry Mountains rose and lay
The Pillar of Kilnaruane don’t say
Too much, pointing straight up; no direction
Except the sky. Consulting notes, my way
Led me down Sheep’s Head towards Kilcrohane
Steep green slopes bled into blue sea. Drove down
To a farmhouse called Desmond’s; white, lonely
Where a small, select group had come to play
Tomás spoke verse and Derek actually sang
Drove up and down and around with Andy.
Tor and Ky (musicians) said I could stay
Sunday 12 July 2009

1017 - Precipitation observation

A perfect grey sky with no chink of blue
Refreshing rain blown sideways by the wind
A lovely walk home to look forward to
Wet clothes are something that I never mind!
To be downhearted about rain is blind
We need it, in the right amount, of course
As we suck the earth dry, the rain's our friend
Restoring, and obeying nature's laws
As we break ours, polluting without pause
Clean gutters, clean my dirty car, won't you
Clean landfill sites, and nuclear waste, and bins
Wash away all we produce without cause
And this time, build no ark to start anew
Or else put better-behaved people in!
Wed 17 June 2009

1013 - Long day's journey into Salford

Sitting here in the Manchester Museum
While Josie colours in all her pictures
For two weeks now, we’ve come here for a swim
But the big pool was closed down for repairs
Wasting no time, we flew straight out of there
And came here for a curious look round
We saw glass cases full of stuffed creatures
Bats, foxes, rabbits, birds that made no sound…
Then later, walking to United’s ground
Along the Ship Canal side; evening sun
Shone on us and the Lowry while we paused
For refreshment; then past the Quays we wound
Our way back to my flat. The total sum
Of this was we had our best time for years!
Sat 13 June 2009

981 - Through the office window

Perfect blue sky, or perfect nothingness
Pretty green trees wave goodbye, short-lived man
A spire points up into the blue: confess
Your sins, or sizzle in the frying-pan!
Happy in the moment, kids whoop and run
Let out of nursery for some fresh air
Happy that adults carry their burden
Of their own future burdens, unaware
Traffic, in ant-like lines, crawls off somewhere
This mortal snapshot, its lifespan far less
Than photos, paintings or images on
The internet, is preserved here with care
Sharing this feature with Shakespeare's sonnets
Outliving the source from where it began
Tue 12 May 2009

956 - Wondering what to do

A blue pink evening sky with plane slug trail
A purple cloud floats by behind the trees
While charging the phone I talk to my girl
The day’s work done, why not do as I please
The sky is darker now, cold evening breeze
From the balcony. How to pass the time
The muse will not allow access, she flees
And I may have to bow out when this rhyme
Is done. The sun has set and I can’t climb
The slopes any more. Let the evening fail
And hope wither, I’ll get up off my knees
Turn on the TV, settle for sublime
Or ridiculous. Watch a film and sail
Away, lose all attachment and unease
Fri 17 Apr 2009

889 - After flying over the Irish Sea at sunset

I’m in the Crown Liquor Saloon, Belfast
And staying at the famous Europa
I flew over fluffy white clouds so fast
And saw the western horizon redder
And clearer than billions of ancestors
Who never flew, and couldn’t even think
This lofty view existed long before
Life had evolved from mere scum in the sink
Of oceans now gone; no, where is the link
Between view and viewer? The need is past!
Living viewer, superfluous once more
These red sunsets do not need me to bring
My blinking assent to a view that lasts
Beauty does not need life or mind. It’s there…
Mon 9 Feb 2009

882 - Salford snowfall

Outside the third-floor window, snowflakes float
Sailing, then sinking in full formation
Frail frozen fleet, soon flattened underfoot
Failing, falling to its destination
Headlights, tail-lights flow from Salford station
Forgetting office facts and office files
Filing themselves away as suburban
Freed from the city by four or five miles
The snow, the shadows, lie in light / dark piles
This freezing season with its frosty coat
This frightened evening, white, black, tight-woven
On forlorn pavements, forgotten exiles
From frequent footfalls, I'll now plant my feet
Forlornly fleeing fate's final function
Mon 2 Feb 2009

847 - Mid-afternoon pause for breath

I went and bought some curtains and a rug
Took down the purple ones, put up some black
The beige rug makes the spare bedroom more snug
The curtains are dark but let in a crack
Of light here and there. I think I’ll go back
And get some bigger ones, next month, maybe,
Then put these in the spare room. Next, a track
Or two of music hopefully will be
Recorded by me here in the flat, the
Bare bones of some new songs might well be dug
Here comes the seventies revival, Mac
But with a modern twist, naturally
But before I begin, I’ll grab a mug
Of coffee (I’ve already had a snack)
Mon 29 Dec 2008

825 - Time to leave the playground

Beautiful blue sky, winter blue sky blues
Noticing red ears, noses and faces
Frosty ground fosters slips, slides, the odd bruise
Boots, gloves for those you love in cold places
Smoky breath, tokens of death in phases
From warmth to chill, as from health to illness
Children laugh, old men cough and wipe noses
Low key minders, reminders of stillness
Playground sounds, parental unwillingness
Mid-afternoon, soon hidden in the hues
Of purple, the bright bauble’s last traces
Stay down now as night covers trees and grass
With numbing blanket. Thank it, don’t refuse
For someone’s needed to push up daisies
Sun 7 Dec 2008

819 - December 1st, 4pm

The sky all shades of blue with purple streaks
Warm swathes of tangerine towards the coast
The dark blue behind all too quickly creeps
The brightness ahead dims like distant hopes
Look into this darkness - numberless ghosts
All scurry through black tunnels, wait in lines
Their dead white eyes betray no sign they host
Within each machine, all-controlling minds
And so we drive ourselves on, disinclined
To stop until all homes are at last reached
Comforted by the fire, shoelaces loosed
Thinking we're free as long as home's light shines
Safe in bed, visualising sunlit peaks
Giving our cold engines a timely boost
Mon 1 Dec 2008

813 - Scottish angels

I finished reading Shadow of the Wind
On the train home from Glasgow in the dark
The sun shone all day. First, we tried to find
Queen Street station, on George Square. Hearing talk
From my colleague about the angels: ‘Look!’
I saw four buxom goddesses of love
Made of stone, holding up buildings. We walk
Away from love, from those girls up above
In the cold morning air, senses removed
Showing the boobs that no hearts beat behind
Got places to go, people to see, work
(In this case, tax talk.) Northward the train drove
Through green fields, orange hills, blue skies, a kind
Vision of Scotland, beautiful and stark
Tue 25 Nov 2008

795 - Advice on dying

Advice on dying, yes, that’s what I want
No, I’m not jetting off to Switzerland
Assisted suicide is not my point
But how to go gentle to Neverland
Where night is white, when my time is at hand
I want to see that white light (not tonight!)
Mirages, smoke, fireflies, flickering flame, and
Pure colours white, orange, black, then clear light
Forever, as I dissolve from your sight
‘I’ returns to concepts the living hunt
While eighty winds, fire, water and the land
Move as one in life’s separatenesses, quite
Unable to unsee their fragile bond
Dreaming of life preserved in grains of sand
Fri 7 Nov 2008

764 - The new doors of perception

An after-dinner coffee by my side
No alcohol today, none yesterday
I feel so real, no depressants inside
This is real life and this is the real way
Stumbling through messy undergrowth, a ray
Of sunlight through the trees, a patch of blue
Emerging onto open fields, away
From shadows into colours old and new
A fertile landscape with much more to do
More seeds to sow, crops to grow, in this wide
And panoramic space, this place to play
To plan, to build and then enjoy the view
Of orchards in rows, and the distant tide
In between, inviting with whitest spray
Tue 7 Oct 2008

752 - Rush hour colours

Sat here in my office room with a view
Approaching the end of the working day
A train pulls into Salford, purple, blue
On the green bridge above Trinity Way
Now here's another; rush hour's under way
Under the bridge. The cars line up at lights,
Then race off like athletes when red gives way
To green; grey cars, black cars, vans (usually whites)
A big white van with small square windows waits
On red, taking its captive from court to
The red bricks of Strangeways for one more day
Or year, or two: endless blue days and nights
Man in grey suit with umbrella tries to
Find his car in the car park, and it's grey
Thur 25 Sep 2008

698 - Late night alone in tasteless room

The black and white cat, having done its shit
Pads proudly, quietly, contentedly
Across the wooden floor and red carpet
To spend the night in the conservatory
The clock on the green wall tick-tocks loudly
The pink plant patterns on the sofa twist
The dark red diamond cushions clash direly
Crumbs on the carpet that the cat has missed
Colours and outer darkness as the mist
Of night descends to relentless clock beat
The cat creeps back in, maybe wants a pee
No - he’s choosing a different place to rest
A restless night for all. The fuse is lit
I don’t think things will work out happily
Sat 2 Aug 2008

686 - A flatful of dust

My sunlit screen’s all obscured by bright dust
Like blinding snowflakes frozen in mid-fall
The sun moves westwards as it always must
And now I’m finding that I can see all
As shadows mount the white screen and white wall
Goodbye sun, you’re no friend to thought process
You bring too much reality; you crawl
Into each dirty corner, dark recess
Training a spotlight on each filthy mess
Spilt food that’s hardened into yellow crust
In kitchen. Look at the floor in the hall
Such biodiversity. I’m impressed
Victorian-style cleaning maids, please just
Line up outside until you hear me call
Mon 21 July 2008

621 - Unnatural light

The late spring evening light a ghostly glow
The trees in full leaf a green Berlin Wall
Through the French door light turns into shadow
Created by the table, chairs and all
Such seasonal impressions can soon fall
Like autumn leaves, like reasons and like love
Someone walks in, depresses switch on wall
And harsh electric light glares from above
Scaring nature away with brutal shove
Boxing glove charm despatching those below
From momentary communion with it all
The real world, inhuman as it wove
Its invisible silk web we can’t know
Until deafened to evening TV’s call
Sat 17 May 2008

545 - Sunday No Funday

Some storm-tossed days as winter’s weary wind
Now staggers to its final parting breath.
I watch the trees outside my window bend,
Their lively motion mocking rooftops’ death.
Beer bottles in the bin, their phantom froth
Bubbles of yesterday, pissed away, gone,
Along with last night’s smoky haze. They’re both
Killed off by Sunday scrubbing, door open,
A shower taken, shaved, the fun is done.
But wait! It’s Mother’s Day! To shops, to find
Flowers cut down at the peak of their growth,
Fleeting colours, bright beauty born of sun.
Will I have time to learn my lines, my mind
Distracted? But tonight’s gig comes by stealth.
Sun 2 Mar 2008

448 - Shades of grey

There's brillig or humbug, or there's brillbug
Superb, abhorrent, or superhorrent
Is it a cup or mug, even a cug?
A drip or torrent, even a drorrent?
You see, there's not just black and white. I've spent
Time thinking about the grey in between
That mixture of two opposites that's lent
The qualities of both. Though less pristine
Less pure, I'm sure it's more like things have been
Both in the human being, that big bug
And the bacteria that somehow went
Through space and grew in earth's water, so clean
Until we came along, until we dug
And dammed. Now will earth's riches be well spent?

Mon 26 Nov 2007

396 - Size zero models: where does the fault lie?

Size zero models: where does the fault lie?
Do men or women take the blame, d’you think?
Do all men love skeletal girls? Then why
Is there such pressure to look like a drink
Of water, streak of piss? There she goes! Blink
And you’ll miss her. Beware her dagger bones
When you’re kissing and cuddling, on the brink,
But struggling to hold on to her. Her moans
May just be hunger. Old feminist groans
Forgotten in mad rush to surgery.
Boob jobs reverse gravitational sink,
Enlarge, reduce, shapeshifting paid with loans.
Investing in sexist society,
Conforming, confirming. Pretty in pink.
Fri 5 Oct 2007