The Ice-Cold Stream

The ice-cold stream calms me,
It takes my breath away.
Thoughts become unfettered,
Fixing my mind on far horizons,
Teaching me how to fall and rise again,
To recall and to forget.

I am not fathom cold,
Merely in stationary orbit,
Torn from the lattice-work of life,
Exorcised from the warmth of the day,
Closeted in the cool of my inner thoughts,
Like a care-worn child receding into
sleepy calm.

We may not breathe these things,
In case they vanish and are lost.
Wrapped so tight in inner thoughts,
Pain-free,
I may yet un-nerve myself,
Falling off the tightrope of my mind,
Again…and…again…and...

The Bead of Nectar.

A bead of honeyed nectar
Falls from a flower
Bleeding down the blue-green vase
Descending slowly
Like a tiny globe of melting ice
Down a frozen window pane.

Moved by its gentle descent
I contemplate it's
Slowly rolling effervescence
Searching for a meaning
Satisfying idle speculation

And as I watch
It slowly ends its journey
On the polished table top
Spreading across the lacquered surface

Laying
A dark magnifying stain.
Leaving me to contemplate
Such minor miracles
Seeking subtle explanations
For this gradual fall from grace.

ELEPHANT

With graceful power
And gently swaying gait
Huge wrinkled feet
Compress the soft
Red-ochre earth
With effortless
Titanic force
The grey questioning trunk
Flexible as an
Agile instrument
Probes the wind for inspiration

Black acacia-eyes fix the distant horizon
With ebony intent

Embossed translucent ears
Flap above the vast belly
Marbled sheaths of extinctive ivory
Protrude from the bulbous head
Obstinately guarding an
Ageless inquisitive wisdom

Sonnet on Love Lost

The sleepless heat of night has fled away
The curtains are half-drawn the boards are grey
The bedroom strewn with life from yesterday
Her hair falls on the pillow where I lay
As through the window comes the light of day
With piercing shafts that dance and sway
Yet I am lost and very far away
Facing thoughts that sleep can’t stay
Suggesting truths too hard to say
As our love ebbs and almost fades away
Like gentle breezes blown through autumn hay
As staring through my sleepless lids I pray
That we find time and space and make them pay
There are so many ghosts we have to lay

My life

My life holds its secrets
….. as the sea

Waves gliding across a sandy beach
Crashing against granite cliffs of
prescient memory
Eroded by surging thoughts
Buffeted by stark reality
And turbulent existence

My life holds its secrets….. as the sky
Lifted on high ideals and aspirations
Propelled aloft by amiable inspiration
Soaring high above pure reason
Aware that peace of mind
May never be achieved

My life holds its secrets
….. as the earth

Dark and mysterious
Burrowing beneath mere existence
Open to subterranean ideas
Lacking linear perspective

My life holds it secrets
…. as the wind

Buffeted by endless thoughts
Borne aloft on wings of erudition
Thunderstruck by memory and loss
Holding only cryptic keys
To solid understanding

My life holds its secrets…. as the sun

Consumed by passion and opinion
Volatile and boundless
An elemental energy
Forging a path through existence
To raven infinity

Su On Line

“It’s really an art work”
She said
“Having seen it from upstairs just now
I’m going on line at last
With a message to the world
It’s going to make me a million
In some fancy international art competition!”

And there it was
Revealed to all

Her ready-made art-statement
Spelt out in multi-coloured clothes pegs
Hanging in tastefully arranged ranks
On our (former) state-of-the-art
Swirling
Symmetric
Aluminium
Clothes-line
In the yard

She said:
“It really matters which way round it spins you know.
Right now - for instance
it’s spinning anti-clockwise
Which isn’t so good!”

“And if it goes the other way?”
I ask:

“So so!” she said
Her look was far away and sad

Time and chance
Play a part
Apparently - whichever way it spins.

Perhaps it will circle
Like some backyard Afghan prayer wheel
And blow away our sins

Or contact the remote stars
Just like some tiny domestic radar
To broadcast her message to the universe

Who cares!
(It’s in the Tate Modern now)
And she’s “the artist formerly known as Su.”
Contact her on
Suonlineatlast@clothesdry.com

Computer Morph

Like Kafka’s insect-man
I am morphing
Into a computer application

A cyberspace bug
Down-loaded from the Web

Fearing imminent system-damage
I have taken myself off-line
Powered-down my systems
Compressed and stored myself in
An external hard-drive
Isolated myself from the motherboard
Disconnected myself from the server
Configured and auto-saved myself to disc
For remote storage and transportation

Archived and backed-up
I remain on standby
For a possible return to life
While my off-line status
Buffers me from the main programme
Repeated error messages
Suggest that
All systems
Are not yet safely closed-down

Is my back-up still operational
Can I safely re-boot
From my Master Cache

What are my current on-line protocols
Am I case sensitive
And properly justified

Am I emotionally compatible

Or is my remote data corrupted
And liable to crash
Warning
 

Amicus Plato, sed magis amica veritas.
‘Plato is a dear friend, but dearer still is truth.’:

(Ascribed to Aristotle)

‘Truth’
So some say

Mixes
Veracity
Candour
And
Honesty

With
Accuracy
Rightness
And
Verity

But
Applying
Its
Bright
Purity

Comes

 

At

 

A

Very

High

Cost

To

Our

Vanity