There’s a blossom lasting longer
Somewhere in my heart;
Secure, do you belong there?
They said it won’t restart.
It may have fallen from a tree
When cherry blossom’s over;
Petalled seasons aren’t for me,
Feeling better by October.
These sensations take me back
Without compelling reason;
Rose oil scent, where pink is black,
My heart committed treason.
538.
Reading my heart line,
It turned red, began to bleed,
Then returned a crease.
These moments
The mind repackages
Like well-used clothes,
Worn with both human
Necessity and splendour,
Vivid colours, from
Taffeta to cotton,
A logo, a label,
A sari from Goa,
A fashionable dress
You’d forgotten,
Esclavage necklace
A friend had lent
Before they moved
To the continent.
All these thoughts
Eventually deposed
And posted to buyers
From Guildford
And Frome,
(Or if not bought
Then decompose),
Yes, repackaged,
A repurposing.
In the end,
All will seem
Not moments,
But times long ago
Where we wore
Different clothes
On our bodies.
These kisses we missed
In other lives elsewhere,
These exquisite moments,
No wonder we arrived
At inevitable reunions where
I dreamed for years
Of lifting you up in my arms,
Passionate embraces,
Time repaired.
For as long as the seas
In our heritage are green,
And as long as the skies
Are propped by the dreams
Of atlases may we continue
To breathe and complete
The abstract truths
Dormant within our ribs
For such profound time
We almost forgot we exist.
My focus here is solely on
Your beauty and your gifts,
Your experiences,
Harmonising pleasure,
Retuning the truth
To satisfy the needs
Of an uncompassed ocean.
Here on this island,
Here with your bliss,
Now and forever
We will exist.
I’m learning a new language,
Only for my better self.
I may be unable
To navigate grey
Plastic-muzzling protocols
Of post-pandemic terminals,
Yet this time’s expended well.
Delightful rolls and
Lilts, the muscle like
Gondoliers gliding through
Venetian tongues of water,
Expressive swells, expansive
Canals of digraphs, sibilants
Lapping the foundations of
Verbs and nouns. My favourite
Habit is to hold the hips
Of conjugating mnemonic tips,
The linguist-loving lips.
No more the mundane forms,
The brutal tubers of unusual
Metonyms removed from mouths
Of Romans millennia ago,
Bemoaning the rain and food,
On frontiers far from home.
A misty creek,
Derelict fishing fleets,
Salt marshes.
A quay where
Lifeboatmen
Would take their leave
To make a widow
From a wife
And orphans
From children.
Main town
Slips by,
Little more than
A row of tightly
Huddled cottages
Asleep beneath a
Precipice, one street
Along the front,
A couple of boarded-up
Empty pubs, I could not
Tell too well as
Through the low-hanging
Clouds gripping
Like lobsters’ mouths
The shells of our minds
There are no lights
Discernible, no life.
We sail on, for some
Parts of these islands
Are only reachable
By waterways
And rising currents.
There is no ferry
These days from
Mainland ports;
Abandoned, an
Airstrip resigned
To weeds, brambles,
An empty map.
There are no trees here,
Nothing higher than
Shoulders of shrubs.
Routinely, unforgivingly
That renowned mist
Which tourists
Fought to see
Now blinds islanders,
Abducts their tastebuds
And tactful languages.
Waves make funnelled
Wrong-way passages,
A distant alarm
Sounds in reverse,
We observed the
Crewless lifeboat return,
Hauled by our yearning
Thoughts up ramps, into
Its empty station.
There is nothing left
But waiting.
525.
The fields are flooded.
It’s the seed of rice we eat,
Ratooning my heart.
520.
Moses basket found
Under the bridge, but the son
Had long since vanished.
519.
Dead blue orchid thoughts,
Beauty reduced to compost.
Petals are my sword.
Little owl, Athena’s companion,
Protector of a Parthenon;
Tidings glad or firmly foul
Depend on where you’re from.
You took my parts collapsed
With Brittonic tradition, yes;
Nailed me to a cottage door,
My feather fetlocks pinioned.
To shepherd the dieing dearly
Through their letterboxes,
Protector of transitions are
The starry bear and foxes.
Barn owls frequently are found
In farming cattle troughs;
We sacrificed the way to float
For silence while aloft.
