Here Comes the Rain
Here comes the rain.
It’s English rain
From English clouds
Grey and ragged
Like dirty cloths smeared across the summer Sky.
Already steady
It’s Filling the drains
With disappointment
Relentlessly washing away
The fun.
Holiday makers sit huddled
In the sea-front shelter
Plastic mac collars turned up
Gazing vaguely at the torn grey sea
Eating sandwiches
And waiting surgery patient
for the coach to come.
Shoppers shiver
Tripping through sudden puddles
In sodden sandals
Carrier bags filling with damp
Dispatches.
Wishing the washing was
Not on the line
And the shopping was already
done
Builders bundle into the front
Of the transit
Windows steamed up.
Looking glumly at the paper
It will be the only sight
They have today
Of the Sun
A woman passing by
Catches my eye
Shoots a small wry
shrug
And Darts a “nice weather!”
Eyebrow to the sky
And I wonder what words
You would use
To explain
That this
Is what it is
To be English
Rattling Bones
The rattling bones of the old year
Will not lie down
Will not lie down
One last dance under a hard moon
Out on the town
Out on the town
One last mocking sarabande
In a moth eaten gown
Moth eaten gown.
Yet Calando dolente she must lie down
In leaf frosted snow
In leaf frosted snow
Her rattling bones in music unborn
Echoing down
Echoing down
Moonpath
| The amber beads strung out along the edge of night
|
| Are no enticement to me now.
|
| The wrinkled moonpath
|
| The silver sea path
|
| Draws me to the winking eye of Wodan
|
| The flashing ruby fire.
|
| The star wolves to guide
|
| And the black ravens to know
|
| The dark horizon glow
|
| That means another world below.
|
Love Story in Peckham – the video
I’ve been working with the brilliant film maker Jonnie Dean. Here is the result of our collaboration
Poem of the Day
Here you’ll find a poem that I’ve written recently or perhaps one from a performance set that somebody’s asked to see again. This one I wrote in response to a series of images by film maker Jonnie Dean. Jonnie then edited the footage to fit the words. Today’s poem is called
Love Story in Peckham
Somewhere here there is a love story.
If you look
In the tilt of a face
In the dragging of a suitcase
This is a home place
A transitional space
Where things are
And things are not yet;
A time between that first look
And the first kiss
A breathless grace
In the homeward race
Between here and not there yet.
This homeless place
A negative space
Day for night
Shot through with light
Flaring from inside
Where we are moved
From looking To being looked at.
And somewhere here
In this breathless place
In the tilt of a face
There is a love story.