Sunday, 19 July 2009

CHANGING INTERVALS BETWEEN BEATS.


This afternoon the moors have all but released
Recent rain into the come-again gullies
Feeding streams. The waterfall is hitting
A river in spate, white sound punctuated only by
The belch of a singular wave breaking persistently,
Un-predictably, against the flow. It is this quirk
That gives the water a time signature I 
Cannot discern, let alone explain in word or number.
Intervals are variable, so the beat has no pattern,
But it's inadequate to call this random.
Better speculate these changes are immeasurable,
Although not permanent.

Monday, 6 July 2009

SO THIS IS YOU


Here are you whose fringe is
Split off-centre, resting on top of
Square spectacles. When your fingers press
It is as if plainsong drifts into me.
Try not to talk.
Some things are so good it is not
Possible to know when they have stopped.
The song passes through itself
On the way back.
Let go of thoughts.
Each touch an echo of one
That went before a time I
Can't be sure about. This quiet
Is your voice.
Enjoy.


Sunday, 28 June 2009

THE LOCK GATES ARE NOT PERFECT.


Listen.
Theirs is the language of barleytwist
Water arcing for a lifetime. Only a
Pitter-patter after a boat's been through,
A slapping and a clapping of hands
When the lock is filled, still and ready.
Cool.


Saturday, 20 June 2009

DAVID AND HIS GRANDSON


David stropped the chisel on the heel of his hand,
Saying, a dull blade has a shine along its rounded edge.
The keenest blade has an edge the eye cannot see.
Let me look.
His god was at the edge without shine
Of David's chisel during moments when shavings curled,
And wood took on another form.
I can smell where you have cut it.
A collector bought the finished chair without
First sitting on it. He could not decide whether his god
Was David or the chair.
That man would enjoy your job.

Monday, 8 June 2009

REDSOUND

Red diesel train makes exactly the right sound. Or perhaps
The note is colouring my visual perception? I hear before seeing, even though
Light travels faster. At water level sight is on the lowest
Fenland horizontal. Any bed of reeds can get in the way. But a blare
Travels the sky that joins me to it. So can a locomotive's multi-media signal
Seem to contradict the law of physics.
But what do I know? I'm only a poet.