Spiral

In the Autumn of my thoughts,
I poured my exploring self
Into one of my known past lives
Where somehow I became caught
Inside the awful seven lies.
Not the life where you
Track me back to a
Red-throated gecko’s crest
In my headwear,
And not the life
Where poems were tied
By one red ribbon
To my samurai chest;
No, deeper again,
To where our wagons petrified;
This is the clearing
And this is the song,
A place we are nearing
Where we do not belong;
Here are the stones
And here are the flowers,
Though petals have withered
And the stones block each hour.
They visit here in their hundreds,
Luxury coaches, air conditioning,
One hundred students
With pre-conditioning
And pink pleated curtains.

My meditative ability
Underneath here,
As much as an oyster and eyeless,
Shucked for humanity’s
Gut and its gears.

Time is a spiral
We surf southwards on,
God’s corkscrew pulls out
To produce the Big Bang.

I can tell you, all physicists,
What’s on that other side;
No more nor less
Than my lost love’s
Champagne-scented sky.

Seven Abysses

Should you go to descend
Those infamous seven abysses,
Beware of the bones you’ll find.
I am not one for spelunking
In karst dolomites of my mind.

Endless mineshaft’s metal cage,
Canaries for the gasses;
From Flemish sellers
Brought those birds, sold by
Old oblast-men with molasses.

Rattling seven strata through,
No safety gear, no time for fear,
Down to a sunken pool;
Its secret waves will gently spool:
Thoughts are born in here.

Arriving in your evening light,
Sunsets seen renewed!
There’s no such thing as death
I said, collapsed on our bed
In a miner’s welfare cottage.

The Dog Board

In a dream you left for me,
Showed where souls will go,
A mantel-mounted wooden stand
Held miniature drawers in rows.

Should I show you how your brother rests?
You said with some resolve,
And pulled out one such tiny chest
Wherein all hope dissolved.

No treasured urn, no cenotaph,
No scripture on a stone,
Just a hundred unsung blocks
In that yew-tree spirit’s home.

She said ‘It’s called The Dog Board’,
It homes your snow-dogs too,
There beneath the foxgloves,
The white drops and the blue.

There’s no entreaty I could make
To save a space atop,
That place both terrifies and captivates
Above the cauldron pot.

Ballad Of The Lame Duck

We travelled together
To a country pub,
Twice down the lane
And called ‘The Lame Duck‘.
Hillsides abounded,
You could roll Cheddar downward,
Seats of stone
Beside summer-westward.
The riverlet rilled,
Smells from the grill,
A rusty sign twinged
With sounds of relief
As we entered a darkness
Devoid of belief.

On your thumb you twisted
An emerald ring,
And down in my heart
I heard your soul sing
Songs of sufficiency,
Songs of lament,
Funerary orations
Deeds, necessary, and
Seed preparations,
Epitaphios Logos,
Stored within an amulet.
You turned to me and slowly said
Do not be sad that I am dead;
An eye for an eye,
A tooth for a bed,
Cat got my tongue
A seventh judge said.

Many more crossed
The same riverbed
Before you stepped into
The last wildnerness.
Wide expanses,
Better unsaid,
I roamed alone
And into the red.

Mausoleum

When you evaporated from
This godforsaken place,
Something inside me
Likewise quietly escaped
Through three brass valves

Which sound the bells
Of souls and fortune we
Sometimes take for granted.
The organ stops underfoot
Created calamitous notes,

Wooden pressures of self-respect
And a better taste for goodness
Evaporated also, and pews
And candles and last laments
Lost all colour and remnants

Of purpose, and the steel sutures
Became fused into my skeleton.
I walked on ravaged plains,
Desert heat transfering
Into my bones where roads

Once flooded with yellow pelatons,
Until that fated journey
To your mausoleum, built
In the old marble museum
Of my diminishing future.

Amethyst

I miss those frosty mornings,
Snowfall on a ridge;
Icicles on the awnings,
Amethyst laps the bridge.

I’m not for city dwelling,
My heart is with my love;
But she resides in times gone by
While half a soul’s above.

And so I miss those winters,
For winters warm as this;
Where we walked a lakeside path,
And found a moment’s bliss.