Green Shade

GREEN SHADE

At Avenue's end, on my rounds,
Lost lanes abound, bumped and cracked,
Where people eyed me strangely,
And warned me gone from there,
I noticed piles of compost,
Outside houses hanging corn,
Wheelbarrows and Wellingtons,
Leaned against brick walls and red barns,
And the smell of cow manure,
In fresh, straw piles on the lane,
Blocked my path through in huge mounds

I walked to an inn for help,
Knocked and no-one answered me,
Then I yelled out to my echo,
After a long pause of quiet,
Out shuffled a tired old man,
With a wild beard and snake hair,
He proceeded to advise,
I was stunned by his sad pleas,
To make leave and not look back,
His teeth were cracked and his eyes worn,
Breath hot, I have not forgot

I spoke to him kindly,
Of the pretty green gardens,
Behind the houses and lanes,
He was unmoved by kindness,
He warned me coldly, staring,
His speech leery and slurring,
'Sir, all is not peace and still,
Nature's cruelty not quite tamed,
Its bloodied maws still beckon,
For the unwary, like you,
For all that is living, dies'

Crows shrieked and cawed, as he spoke,
Calling their warning, 'cross wastes,
I remained still in my mind,
To the robin's whistle song,
As the cold grey man went on,
'Listen', he said, grabbing me,
'Bees beat their wings and hover,
As they hurry and gather,
While flies buzz all around too,
They all must greet their maker,
Meet their deaths in silken traps'

'That is why we must make hay,
Not leave life to close of day,
Or put off joy to the 'morrow,
That is why we choose to live,
Here in this quiet repose,
Where we are free from your chains',
My mind chilled at these refrains,
I continued my day's rounds,
And ignored the sad man's claims,
That very day they caught me,
Put me down under dark sod

My cold body remains still,
In a treeless yard, I rest,
Beneath a new exedra,
Here I now lay in green shade

The Jovian Wars

 The Jovian Wars

Anger, the spilling of blood loud will sing,

Wrath of our gods, war’s suffering will bring,

Vengeance, a lake of blood and flesh can sate,

Apollo sent plagues that would not abate,

Danger, we appealed to Zeus for relief,

He girded our armies, gave us belief,

We stood in the hot dust, ready to bleed,

Our knives to draw in the name of our creed

We had ridden star horse through many suns,

Convinced that we sons are the special ones,

Around planets and distant moons we sailed,

Our brave warriors trained in armoured mail,

I caught my breath at sunlit reaches,

That stretched through galaxies and dark breaches

 

We were set on sating our grim war lust,

To destroy Jovians, pound them to dust,

Like sad red ashes in their homely hearths,

We would burn their art and books in our garths,

Following the will of ancient fathers,

These deeds would inspire reliefs for carvers

 

When we came upon Ilium, dusk fell,

It gloamed all around, it seemed like in hell,

Then dawn revealed a great city of light,

Under green skies in which black crows took flight,

Nesting beside a bright, deep purple lake,

We launched our attack before they would wake

 

The gods and heroes of all men looked down,

And sang for us a new music, our crown,

Of victory, as we twisted cold steel,

And vanquished the enemy to shrill peals,

And screams that echoed in crow caws at noon,

We had killed the race from Jovian Moon

 

As red fiery rock rumbled and thundered,

And smoky pyres burned and loud screams sundered,

They were dragged down to their infernal gloom,

And columns of hot fire rose up in bloom,

At this, their gods fled like flashes of light,

That merged with the bright stars that took their bight,

Then heralds bellowed as if from heavens,

And the City of Light dissolved forever

The Murder of Lorca

 THE MURDER OF LORCA

It was done at the Great Spring,
Where blood red roses grow tall,
It was I who denounced him,
We brutes seized him that hot night,
And the story I now tell,
Is what happened sure and true,
When death came for the poet,
His fine head was bowed and hooded,
And crossed before the Divine,
He stayed a man, did not crack,
When death came to the poet,
I turned away, could not look,
As a brute aimed his pistol,
At such a delicate brain,
Then dumb lead snuffed out that soul,
When I turned back, death remained,
And Lorca was no longer

That night, I sank to my knees,
Amidst the reddest roses,
And offered my confession,
I shouted to the heavens,
And the Devil answered me,
In the clinging heat, cold blood,
Bubbled in the pure waters,
As if Lorca could re-form,
Then the waters remained still,
It was murder in hot steel,
I saw it all and stood small,
I had come to denounce him,
Then I wandered in the cold,
And crossed myself with his blood,
Death had come and gone, marked me,
I pleaded for forgiveness,
For Lorca was no longer

The next day it rained and stormed,
The blood red roses turned black,
And all who knew Lorca wept,
A legend had been profaned,
It was I who denounced him,
My kin cannot look at me,
They turn away from me now,
I turn away from myself,
Death will come for me and go,
For I denounced the poet,
If only I had believed,
And bowed my head instead,
Even at the cost of lead,
A bullet to my own head,
I denounced Lorca, the poet,
I come to denounce myself,
For Lorca is no longer

Earth Nails

 

EARTH NAILS

I grew it like you said,

Tended in its bed,

Waited through long nights,

On every swallow cry

Then up came hard green nails,

Pinning the folds of sod,

On which frost clings like tallow,

To smiling ice cream heads

Soon, waves of yellow and light,

Carpet fields under clear skies,

Bees jump and twist in flight,

To taste the lion's teeth

Each floret bites sweeter still,

Each whispered breeze of pure white,

Blankets shrubs and sedge with seed,

Then closes up to black night

One day, hatted children come,

Bearing indigo trumpets,

They run and trample through,

Making carpet dye like sun

Like you said, the nails still grow,

Over me when I lay down,

See me in this sun I left,

Behind me is life and death.

Dust to Dust

Dust to Dust

I tried to throw pieces of you away,
But the wind blew the pieces of you back,
They stuck to me like gello and remain,
Now I see you about in what we knew,
In doorways and arches you appear still,
Like the shock of a thunderclap in heat,
Everything breaks down and is rebuilt too

The awesome power that took you from me,
Comes alive again not in gentle hills,
Or quiet dells and green secluded lanes,
You were too much for quiet dignity,
Happy joyful speaking shouting singing,
Running walking leaping jumping dancing,
Can never be numbed by eternal sleep

When a stiff wind blows, it is you sprinting,
When a cool breeze flows, I can feel your heart,
When I hear storms, you are warring with God,
When the sun blazes, I can see your smile,
When it rains, that is your sad bitter tears,
When birds chirp and sing, I know you are near,
When my heart stops, I will touch you again

The Gorgoneion

The Gorgoneion

I saw you first under velvet baldaquin,
Brandishing that shield as an honoured marquis,
Might spent, in weaved brocade the new majesty,
Yet still you held the stare of the assassin,
While in masks of greasepaint the harlequin hides,
Clearly through fiery l’aura I see His awe,
Above Madonna in pietà, cast waugh,
Looking down on the putto scratched in tired eyes.

Yet descant howls awaken the dark lagoon,
Fashioned out of deep umber, tendrils flowing,
Bloody larvae ooze vipers, curled arabesque,
Cast in gesso, I see her under the moon,
She spits acid blood that cuts through ice glowing,
Look at her with eyes, for a harlequin’s jest.

Chaucer's Wine

 CHAUCER’S WINE

It was a sweet privilege,
To sink down that hearty meal,
To savour the tears of a full rose,
Aromas awakened me,
Like a clapper rings its bell,
Taste clinging, in tinctures of glass,
Sparkling on rock and scattered,
Forming streams in filigree

            At court, gathered ‘neath a canopy,
             Summer light glints over gold downs,
              Flocks assemble on green fields for feed,
                All wait in silence while breath sways reeds,
                 My King rises in opulent robe,
                  Bearing stars of wars and wise arrows,
                   ‘Let us hear it’, he commands, voice pealing,
                     I find a note and brave the King’s ear,
                       Whistling a tooth while owls listen,
                         Chirping fowls join and flutter in versed preludes,
                            To accompany my tears with legs in full note,
                              He hears, happy through his rotted smile

My words seem to echo and fly,
Clouds rush to gather and appoint their angels,
Light shimmers through, this moment is mine,
He rewarded me with riches,
Juices of sweetness to savour,
That balmed my heart as purely as maid song,
Drew out the flaps of love and flew,
Gay and free across endlessness

Now I see aging in threadbare wires,
Bells no longer, brume all around,
Hills crested with tinges of a bleeding cup,
Herald the coming of the final pause,
When the knell calls and pink hands pale,
And these hands will lose their touch of blood,
   Red-chested robins on snowed leaves tell,
Of wondrous innocence still and small,
All such things must one day end,
Then start again, I start again in you,
   I gather wood with dear friends knowing,
These are the last days of knights and maids,
I remain poor and find my bier here,
Yet I regret not as I cling meek,
You gave me life, I drank it down full

Hockney

 HOCKNEY

How far did they walk your heart?
I wander in those same vales,
Walk down those same paths and trails,
Treading in the wake of your beat

On bosky lanes I see gnawers,
Scurrying up trunks in bright sun,
I follow your trail up Woldgate,
To beet fields where rabbits jump 

Clambering up a karstic hill,
Skating black ice through cold sky tears,
Large squirrelled trunks motor past me,
Then I look back to rolls of quilt 

Knowing you were there to see,
Each little wild sunflower,
Set on fresh, chalked grasses,
In vales of wolded ranges 

Near where I stand you painted,
In dim wood light, I whisper,   
 If I could fill this moment,
In motets of sweet birdsong 

Even now I dare only creep,
Afraid to shake apart frescoes,
Nodes in my eyes grow to stems,
I step in your tracks and trails

You made those trails, I follow,
Running along the ridges,
My eyes and ears sharp as boughs,
Jumping across your canvas

Hamnett

HAMNETT

Looking across the empty parts,
     Wastes within which hearts are frigid,
          Keener touches dance through dandelion,
               Weary me that sensed the dark with dark senses

The golden chains of life flash through me,
     As if I am made of glass, mottled cloudy blue,
          That could convince a demon-witch who seeded you,
               Laid bare on spurs, limpid larvae like cankers,
                    Giving life through chrysalis,
                         Down on which mothers spoiled favour

Your smile, I remember through pellucid visions,
     Found when I searched deep pools,
          Lights up pits and leaves my senses embalmed,
               Your mop, like a bright sheaf,
                     Then as bloodied knives tear through aspic,
                          Purple moments fade to blackness

You I remember through the dullest things,
     Like wicket gates that make baileys,
          Shrubs that tower like trees,
               Old doors that serve grand churches,
                    In my heart you grow again,
                         I knew it before it was seen,
                             Found you alive in my pen

The Rising Tide

 

THE RISING TIDE

Tides rise to greet the oak moon,
Weighted ‘gainst the acclivous breach,
Hark!  Silence, all is dead and still,
Then rumbles from distant tropics

Paragons form in stormy froth,
Above peaks and swirling eddies
Crests mount to gallop like horses,
Rushing and crashing up slips

A lonely figure stands and peers,
Across dull grey waters, through mist,
Blued, he fights the arresting cold,
His breath steams, like a coughing boiler

A bearded fisherman limps north,
Trawling cod before the seas freeze,
His bloodied knife fillets the chum,
As the oaken hull heaves and rocks

Folk venture out in strawy coats,
They slip, fall and skate on iced roads,
Jolly in their bright scarves and gloves,
Their eyes shoaled and glowing brightly

Lonely figures hike the chalk coast,
When day draws in they make to rest,
Sitting before burned coals in damp,
Their socks toasted off itchy feet

Out in the enveloping dark,
Bright children laugh and scream ‘til blue,
Cold mitts mould abominables,
Stern mothers fuss and call them in

Soon the ice and snow thaws to green,
A bright winter sun burns above,
Mornings wake in hopeful Primrose,
And daffodils stalk from dark soils

The gannet banks against the sun,
From a bright empyrean dint,
Eyes a fish and darts like lightning,
Its claws brush the reddened water

Looms its grey wings out stretched and turns,
To fly south, the first sign of new,
As talk and laughter rings through streets,
Soft voices rise and life resumes.

Russia

 

RUSSIA

Snow falls from deepest blue vaults,
Draping the sky, everything moves,
Like worlds shake across endless lands,
Fires rage and spit round calm hearths,
Then breath freezes, muffled hands numbed
Iced under sod across blue wastes,
Screams huddle from chinks of death cold,
And throw warm glass on burning coals

Hooded crows watching drifted fields,
Machines plough snow into black earth,
Maidens tread cross copses in green lust,
Their red pinafores streaming blood,
Bright and pristine in babushkas,
Atop long flowing dark rivers,
Mordant and pretty, like hot onion
Her eyes still, like glass, but worldly,
Worlds in her, deepest reaches betray,
Her slim waist sways to give me naught,
Ice packed upon ice, I fathom,
Mysteries ‘neath watery gloom