Never now exhausted,
Love has blossomed forward,
Through an extreme of seasons,
One by one went by.
Spring’s within the Autumn,
Falls are once more roaring,
And those blossom-oils are pouring
Under pastel-orange skies.
Let’s go for a hairpin drive
To where your love resides,
Somewhere secluded in time
Beyond the woodland outside.
I’d rather a life in near-solitude!
For Nature is all-celebrating
While the cities are just enervating,
But only, love, in solitude with you.
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.
My future fears have never formed
From scientific findings;
Derisible angst inside me soars,
Dirigible life’s kept grounded.
I have not survived an earthquake,
I have not lived through wars,
Where the breezeblock innocence
Becomes a flooded door.
So fears veer to the abnormal,
Stretched by days alone;
My therapist said I’m hormonal
In a cobbling I didn’t own.
Suffering always flushes men out,
Short of battle or bliss;
More freedom’s in the evening skeins
Than anything I might miss.
Is this world both one and true
As that within my mind,
From Argonauts, Thelassian crew,
A golden fleece to find.
I felt the sea the same,
That gentle Aegean lapping;
Did Peloponnesian navies tame
The inlets I am mapping.
Or is this landscape’s manifest
From minds divested only;
Symptomatic, I am a guest,
Devoid of fleet and lonely.
Don’t pity me, a juvenile,
These sands and weeds aren’t homely.
Owned by ones I could not find,
Wandering lost and lonely.
A samurai trod a path he’d chosen
To keep the peace from danger,
While love he left in dreams of a shogun
Broke his heart for a stranger.
He walked with his staff for a year and a half,
Seeking soul mechanics,
Though all he found was a constant sound
From the ancient waves’ rheumatics.
There was no art to his mission,
No destination, no learning;
Only forgoing her name’s definition
Might extinguish the flames of his yearning.
Love held his armour in place,
Sad truth when rusted by dearth;
He settled his debt with the great daimyo’s grace,
Though the parts still fell to the earth.
Along a coastal road, resigned,
I thought I saw him, ghosts apart;
Erroneous nomad, the way was designed
By those who would pierce your heart.
When feeling down in deeper depths,
Self-loathing flooding ten regrets,
The sure bouy’s back and surfacing fast
On waves that whisper ‘never last‘.
There is my rock to which I cling,
Where oldest sirens preen and sing,
Dressed in feathers I caressed
While pecking at my sunburnt flesh.
In succour I bloomed for an hour or so
But little considered my loosening soul
Would fill where prayers refuse to go,
In briny, speluncar fish-bone holes.
And though on sailing I depend
I always return to that place in the end,
The flock is feasting on my heaven
While my senses drain and deaden.
I convince myself, like many others,
That I’m alive and that’s enough;
My brothers below betray such comfort,
Empty-eyed beneath the bluff.
I woke, the awful crows transformed
In to an ambulance outside dorms;
A student there departs once more,
To a different, distant shore.
My journey is only beginning,
Slowly with songs we are winning.
He told me I was broken,
And truth was simply a token
He stored beneath my tongue.
Truth received a bung
In case I could be opened
Without him here to co-depend.
Self-kindness looked away,
A village willow with dismay
Silenced Spring with all the same
Fragile leaves of falling blame.
He made a ladder with no rungs,
Butterflies flourished in his lungs.
A cat unpicked my mouth devout,
And now the coins are falling out.
My barren mind will oftentimes
Grasp for levelled words,
Its fallow field’s infertile,
Dreams dissolved to dirt.
I’d try to shake myself awake
Like thorns within a curse;
Letters in life’s word-game rattle,
A rib-cage emptied verbs.
Unpaid workers dug a hole,
They formed a pile of earth;
They bound me to a bloodied pole
Not far from my place of birth.
I did not even question how
These trap doors are not doors;
A lever, flattened oak-wood opened,
As out my soul then poured.
A crack-covered platform,
Weeds penetrate again,
Timetables faded behind
Glass with mildew stains;
Yet still I’m waiting for a train
That was long since cancelled.
The waiting room’s degraded,
Graffiti and lovers’ names spray-
Painted, names now dead or
Vacated as part of a great
Immigration, yet still I’m waiting
For arrivals to shake me.
The church has lost its steeple
And roof, and church-going
People, so I sit on a pew
On my own and look directly
Up to the grey-stained spaces
Where no one is waiting.
It’s a heavy load
I haul, on deserted roads
Out to John O’Groats.