They Came Home

Unsuspected cemetery

its thousand year sand graves

sifted away by storm

revelation

 

they had lived clasped

by the shore

and by the sea

vigorous and self-assured

that margin

 

on their oceanic trade routes

of exchanged objects

and the latest news from

beyond the dolphin-drawn horizons

 

of kings and their retinues

the gossip of far-flung tribes

precious stones and

famous sunsets

 

the bones of the infants

unusually survived

loved in the cuddle

of the cist

laid down with seared hearts

 

they said their toes pointed inwards

bunched that way

by the embrace of

disappeared shrouds

 

The Elixir of Preparation

The elixir of preparation

and the preparation of the elixir

the moving air

the flies on hot roof tiles

science as an aspirin

 

to be a crow

then one crow to another

an imagined conversation with Nick Cave

in the cemetery of celebratory dead

 

1.6%

c273

in Arden Forest

the view through a green glass sphere

“better do it now than wish it done”

Of The Fields

I am of the fields

the ones in which my grandfather

used to toil and hunt rabbits

to feed nine mouths

 

always close at hand

in the distance

the horizons

 

the cattle-hooved mud at gates

the perpetual feeling of trespass

among the thistles nettles

and cow pats

the trees the largest objects of that world

 

my parents had left the meadows

to live in brand new local

authority housing

and benefit from modern technology

and labour-saving labours

 

the fields followed them as

lawns borders hedges weeds

wallpaper and cemeteries

 

I am of the fields

I played at soldiers there

and honed the loneliness

of the imagination

and learned how to die

 

No Harps

I am not a harper

I am not a Fisher King

I am neither of these things

I am not a father

I am not a feather wing

I am neither of these things

I am not a player

I am not a fiddle string

I am neither of these things

I am not a piper

I am not a diamond ring

I am neither of these things

I am not a singer

I am not a playground swing

I am neither of these things

I am not a sinner

I am not a waspish sting

I am neither of these things

I am not a swimmer

I am not a moorland spring

I am neither of these things

I am not a winner

I am not a rifle sling

I am neither of these things