as if air had just been invented,
carrying scents, and
taste, and touch, and sparkling clarity –
it could even be singing to my contented listening;
cool air, waiting to be warmed by the sun;
at this magic hour, it matters not whether
countryside or town;
and I’m suddenly, unexpectedly
filled with the nobility of life –
and simulteously, or perhaps just after it,
humility…
and this strange, agreeable pair, I bask in,
live and move and have my being,
this fine morning in June
about it and I said,I have nothing to say…maybe that’s a better place to start.So should we keep a curtained silenceabout it? Stuff cottonwool in that woundthat never quite heals, once made?Or run down the street, knocking bang bang at all the doors,shouting tell me about death… andbefore that stranger knocks at your own doorand…
I’d barely writ a line so fine, when the poem turned to me,looked me in the eye and ear, and laughed demonic-lee,pranced around me, singing, boo! you can’t catch me!ain’t no rules nor grammar for the boldheart and the free!race you round the chocabloc, poetic chairbound fatty!you’re just like every pompous poet, thinking always that…
that meets the undergrowthat the end of the garden;time to take steps to tidy it.two rakes awaited my decision:there’s the metal one, which makes hard workbut scarifies the moss and aerates the top soil as well –and the wooden one, slightly Japanese looking,its tines further apart, and easier on the arms,which combs the long grass…
you could hear the sound of bat on ball, orball on racquet, or foot on football, orjust people enjoying themselves out therebeyond the half-open classroom window –a little bit of grammar can open your eyes,open your mind, make you curious…take for example the word ‘become’..many centuries ago the ancient Britsgot it from some ‘Germanic’ tribe,and…
or just occasionally, go to bedthere’s a light on across the wayevery morningand I wonder, is he the guywho starts the whole of London off?Is he the one who drives the unscheduled trainwhich gets all the other transport workers totheir stations and their trains? Or just gets that first train going?Or unlocks the gates to…
the light so strong that it seems to have bleached away all thought;time is taking a siesta.come sit with me here in this almost deserted amphitheatrewhich has stood for more than two thousand years,only the bees are quietly moving,searching the flowers which grow between these huge blocks of stonewhich someone quarried, someone brought here,someone acted…
