Two Haiku

A small running stream –

Wind chimes from the neighbour’s porch.

Blue tired evening.

 

Sunrise on the hills –

White snow rests on their high peaks,

They seem far away.

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Lust for Adventure

It is a winter of inquiry and romance

And against better judgement I read the news,

Nothing much is going on but the offers to fly

Are enticing. I’d rather gaze at the fair Italian moon

Than the crimson wash of the Manchester sky.

I’ve got excitement within my reach,

But as soon as my heart starts to pound

I retreat into the crescent arms of early night.

I’d rather feel an African joy than the woes of a northern boy,

But my hands are pale like a river

And the choirs in my town are solemn and repressed.

I’m sure I’m awake to the fire of Elvis

And the conversation of Richard Harris,

But the wind that follows the car are ribbons reaching home.

Romance

I’d take you where the sun hangs high

Where the sea birds shelter in the shade;

I’d steal you from the winter

Where the day only fades.

 

I’d give you promises I couldn’t keep

And every smile is as hollow as a jewel,

I’d let you play the master

If you’d let me play your fool.

 

I’d dance with you till the pale dawn

And tell you about our future

I’ve drawn the map, found the route

And I’ll be there with you.

 

And I’d let you stand with the stars

Leaving me on the shore;

I’d give you the chains

That don’t bind me anymore.

 

And I’d cry your tears in the morning

When I think that you’re not there;

It’s not that I want your sorrow

It’s to let you know that I care.

Biography

I want to be lazy, like an old string

On a rusted guitar or a prophet

Lounging in the Spanish sun. It would be nice

To have a clear mind, like a cat on the street –

But Coffee and inspiration makes me shake

And I can feel the weeping in my chest,

Like a Robin on the washing line.

Never mind existentialism – that doesn’t cut it,

My body is whole and wild and I imagine excess

And decadent days in which to waste away.

And then I write about them.

Fred Schneider

I let Fred Schneider into my house

And now we’re selling discount fish

At tourist prices but I suspect my house

Is haunted now and a constant fog

Drifts through it like London and the walls

Are damp and blue. We have problems with

Seagulls and men with hooks for hands in

Yellow cagoules. Jazz is banned to my chagrin.

Tai Chi is practiced by the dirty green bottles

That house our experiments. Hausu, what a film.

Summer is busy for us but the day trips to the bay

To gather more fish are always a treat.

Ragged Storm

Ragged storm! With the voice and demeanour

Of God, do you encircle me for judgement?

Are my sins a veil to lose me between worlds?

I am only one among many servants

That fell to the serpent’s way,

Outcast from the dregs of empire

That, like a plague, covers the world in a more

Vengeful darkness than thee.

 

Now I stand helpless to your claws

And the lashing rain that cleanses us

And the torn lightning that whips us.

Towards the darkling plume we sail

And I wonder if we deserve to see the day again.

Fate

My fate is to look down a dusty dirt road in the hot Texas sun with a pale cowboy hat on my head and a blue shirt torn by the rocks from the outlying badlands, all with an air of anticipation and wonder as to what my next action will be or whether or not i’ll get any dustier in this dusty desert (The desert may be a metaphor for ‘life’ but who knows!?) there’s a buzzard above scouting for his friends so i best ditch my stolen sheriffs badge and mosey on back to the old chicken shack called home.

 

what was this?