to keep hard at it
for hours and hours,
wake the neighbours
with her moans,
buy now or she could
leave you for Mr Jones
think I’ll wait,
see if she goes,
I much prefer
a night’s repose
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To laugh at life
among friends
In the mind, there’s a photo-album
with a question-mark –the stranger’s profile, immortalisedas they waited at the crossing lights;the face crumpled with laughterat the joke you missed, asyou boarded the bus;the first glimpse of a future lover’sstance, expression meaningless:strangely unattractive,insignificant yet remembered;whose photographs are these?it’s as if some other mindborrowed your camera without your consent,to leave taunting hints of timelessness.
Into this quiet room; with sweet relief
the glorious, restless world no longer thiefthrough thought, of all that for that oneness yearns;and now, in peace, outside the window shineall life’s specifics; all its passing show,now from this peace, seen as a play divine;all restlessness now gone; time, ever now;and in this heavenly peace, the heart’s laid barein all its nature, born from…
It’s like an adult version of a parlour game, isn’t it?
and a crossword puzzle where the guy who set the puzzleis always a step at least ahead of you dammitand knows there’s a perfect solutiononly known to him, or Himso here I am, shuffling these black-and-white(well, kinda browny-maroon on this site)soundless things which are supposed to besounds in my ear and mind whichby mad optimism…
Parcel lost in post!
and live without it..
Dawn entered on time. The warning flash
demanding thunder’s drumrollechoing round the mountains. Salzburgwas never so musical. In his gardena pulsatilla flinched with joy. Beneathhis fast pen, music wrote itself. In this house,the waterpipes made music with the cistern,doors made harmony with window catches; wet shoeswith wooden chairs scraped back. Mathematicsscrawled on walls sang number.Piano lessons were from youth to age,no need…