my parliamentary friend (who is a dog)

But when I look ahead up the white roadThere is always another one walking beside you ~ who are youmyparliamentaryfriend I thoughtI knew youon election daywhenso many of uspassed our judgements placing youbehind the microphoneand dais we believedyou would give thoughtto all of ouraffairsof state and make lawsto help the governanceof this land and todayyou … Continue reading my parliamentary friend (who is a dog)

a lament (with no cherries)

Who is the third who walks always beside you ~ wellI won’t be doingthe cherriesthis year or any of the other fruiteitherfor that matter the orchard belongsto my youngerbrother I never wanted itwhen we were younger I went offand got a jobwith a reliable wagein the town butI’ve always helped him outand worked for himacross … Continue reading a lament (with no cherries)

praise be (debating class)

There is not even solitude in the mountainsBut red sullen faces sneer and snarlFrom doors of mudcracked houses ~ I cannot readthe newstoday it is allpoliticianssnarling liarsliar-catchers attention-seekers angry menwho wantto make the play who wantto win the dame be lovedjust likewhen mama loved them and dad approved and teachermarked the paperwitha super gradebecause he … Continue reading praise be (debating class)

Finishing The Waste Land Project (take #1)

I feel in just a little celebratory mood at the moment. I've just finished my write-through of T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land, with the last 5 pieces written this morning. I know regular visitors to the Blog here will know, but I'll just recap what I think I've been doing and explore what might come … Continue reading Finishing The Waste Land Project (take #1)

what story (what ending)

Why then Ile fit you ~ what storyis this the mariner . . . the whale . . . neither yesperhaps neither moremaybeit is of death the little deathof a spiritmortally wounded more againperhapsit is of birth despite everything what storyare you hearingtoldin the oldsailor tradition toldas a toastat the funeral spokenin wonderat the first … Continue reading what story (what ending)

almost inaudible (the wheel turns)

I sat upon the shoreFishing, with the arid plain behind me ~ from the deserttothe sea the mysterious vastnessto the vastmystery all of lifeisa cycle and every wheel mustturn it is nota choicebut lies withinits nature –its very wheel-ness –to do so each turnrevealsa newnessof aspect a new facet from the desertto the seaopposing vastness … Continue reading almost inaudible (the wheel turns)

new light (shines bigger)

each confirms a prisonOnly at nightfall ~ the songis an insistentthing there is a demandin the chords within the notes soundpenetratesand there is noavoidingeven ifthere was a willto do so a time comeswhen it is necessaryto confrontby embracing to conquerby absorbinginhalingosmosing . . . and changingwith it is no longera strugglebut morean enlarging a lifebecoming … Continue reading new light (shines bigger)

a wash of waves (and weaving)

Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider ~ all those things those . . . eventshappened theywere real so realthere was no roomfor anything elsein the space –the time –surrounding them they were life as it was especiallyin the momentwhen they werecommitted so real the onlyreal and nowthey are marvelsthat have the patinacoveringof an … Continue reading a wash of waves (and weaving)

blood changes (forever)

blood shaking my heart ~ whatis the differencebetween the bloodof a whaleand thatof a man is mammaliain commonenoughto establish a kinshipbond . . . could the onebe pouredinto another . . . perhaps bloodis the wrongreference point maybethe kinship factoris shownin the physical the fleshand the bones skinand eyesand fingers and limbs mother-milkand warm pulsationof … Continue reading blood changes (forever)

when the lost pod sings (to sea again)

Only a cock stood on the rooftreeCo co rico co co rico ~ the mariners –old whale-men all –gather perchedon makeshift stools squattingor simplyon the groundwith their backsagainsta wall these menhave known hardshipat the whimof oceansand are not abovea seatupon the steady earth their handsare a devilish rainbowof lined weatherblack pitchand the golden-brownfrom the foul-bacsmokedor … Continue reading when the lost pod sings (to sea again)