Monday, September 29, 2014

tonsurial parable



Not shaven headed,
merely trimmed:
shed in tandem hairdressing -
his and hers conglomeration.
Discards no longer needed,
dispatched Samsonite,
fallen from grace.
In their falling
flowing together
folical filaments,
tributaries
twined, intertwined,
curled in their comfort.
Silver and gold
woven strands
of Autumn
soft nested
like interlocked fingers.

Thursday, September 25, 2014

In a graveyard


 (beside the 'Chestnut Centre' Otter sanctuary, Chapel-en-le-Frith, Derbyshire)



No longer quaking
their pulses still beat,
beyond the entrapment of earth,
the grass at my feet.
No longer secret,
convictions declared,
in soft silent graveyard
and Summer sun shared.

My birthday, your deathday,
the dates coincide
the years may be diff’rent,
like Jekyll and Hyde,
but we share these moments
in the soft Summer sun
me breathing, you resting,
me doing, you done.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Birds sing the changing of seasons




There’s a nudge of Autumn
in the tight air of the morning,
the tense breath of anticipation
in the waving of grasses.
Christmas decoration
appears in the turning trees
and the fruity offering of harvest
blesses the bushes.
Birds sing the changing of seasons.
The steady building of beds
rustles in the miniature secrecy
of tired mice.

Garden furniture gathers its winter clothing
or goes into hibernation
to be claimed by spider web and dust
in the shortening of days.

It’s preparation time
and industrious nature
leads the way.


Thursday, September 11, 2014

You are deep



You are deep 
within the shop window,
sunlight warm on the shoulder
I want to stroke.
A not for sale temporary manikin,
technicolour shadow, looking out
watching you, silently, from the inside
impenetrable in another frame.
Looking in, it sees you
and stares out in careless mimicry.
The hard glass window skin grabs you;
a virtual imprisonment
in contemplative reflection.
You hold its attention,
its blank boredom
relieved
by your gazing,
and it grazes
while you look beyond
into its silent, siren, treasures.
You cannot see yourself
but I see you both -
the vulnerable, beyond reach,
and the virtual, untouchable.
We do not want you
to turn away.