the theory of knowledge from a poet's corner
the expressionless face
hides behind the door –
her elbows and knees
fall below to the floor
the expressionate face
the centre of now –
his body and soul
climbing high from the bough
the facade takes the place
of the expressionless face
and picks herself up
by the door from the floor
the centre of now
shares facade’s dream
declaring themselves
more alive than they seem
Fuss and Nonsense went to the bay
leaving Grumpy and Difficult at home to stay
they went to sit down on the beach on the sand
until Fuss said to Nonsense; I’d much rather stand
Nonsense misheard what Fuss had to say
and sat on the sand on the beach at the bay
Fuss turned her head to a mighty foul sound
it was Grumpy approaching and shouting out loud
I’ve come to spread torpor and to wither and fade
I’ve come for a day at the beach in the shade
as Fuss became grumpy and difficult too
she took on a persona depressingly blue
she started to shrink and to shrivel and wilt –
Nonsense caught with a start at the spite Fuss had built
Nonsense could sense an odd feeling impart
so he swam over to Chance who cajoled a fresh start
they talked babble and jabber and twaddle all day
and swam to the new world where they’d canoodle and play
they were free to be flippant and simply have fun –
leaving Fuss and her ‘friends’ in the company of Numb
I have to print it out to break it down
I have to read again to understand
I separate the lines to see them flow
and build a construct and watch it grow
If everyanything* can be done
and we make a life from one block – two
then somebody’s something we grow to behold
welcoming all and sundry into the fold
In other words positive beats negative down
and words build spirit – life jumps from the page
read aloud or in silence – effect is the same
my friend is poetry – words given a name
*the word ‘everyanything’ comes from E E Cummings’ ‘adult nursery rhyme’ ‘If everything happens that can’t be done’
Whenever I sit in the grandfather’s chair
I dream what I wish for – that you would be there
in a disorganised muddle – I fuddle about
stumbling on affection – tripping on doubt
yet in your eyes I see a girl –
sweet and serene – as if you’re careening –
I canoodle and cartwheel as I try to find meaning
we’re the what in the why and the how within showing
as I follow a butterfly on a leaf in a flutter
(like cream rising to top when we mix milk with butter)
you’re my sweet summer sunflower in polk-a-dot dresses
that fall off your shoulder under long flowing tresses
I reach out to touch you with the tip of my finger
on the nape of your neck is where my touch lingers
you are my red and my yellow – my green and my blue
the most wonderful rainbow remaining in view
the butterfly fluttering – always on cue
in the grandfather’s chair I dream only of you
just when a ‘we’
becomes ill-defined
we look up to the valley
and down to the sky
just when an ‘us’
hides behind a facade
we look behind the horizon
and beyond the yard
and we find a ‘why’ and a ‘what’
and a ‘when’ and a ‘how’
as we stumble and fumble
to reach here and now
so a ‘you’ and a ‘me’
can become ‘us’ with glue
and togetherness cries
until ‘we’ make a two
who soar in delight
and ask; ‘how did we do’
stick to ‘us’ known as one
made of ‘me’ and of ‘you’
and just when a ‘we’
is truly defined
we look down to the valley
and up to the sky
hop to it; he says romping bounding and bouncing
springing into the water gambolling from grass
a frolic – your frisky when dancing and prancing
others have left – cavorting – we’re last
when others fail to do what can be done
making nothing of something and neglecting the one
playing and leaping and splashing and dancing
into the water gambolling and prancing
when all others defer we stand alone
cajoling and fondling and showing affect
when others say ‘no’ we say ‘yes’ over again
giving and sharing when others deflect
it’s time; I tell you; it’s up in the air
put your hand in the way – you jump
(it’s life you are catching)
in some sort of trance the others lie sleeping
you spring into the water with a frolic and frisk –
you spring into the water gambolling like this…
This life of ‘I’ is a life of ‘am’
and I cannot live gluten-free
sweet embellishments when in your world
and spring will help me pass the brood
she waits with patience – lures longing
too long I thought yet so rewarding
that it would catch me in the race
to fashion feeling’s mirrored face
like a facade spent time perfecting
only to be thrown reflecting
the truer self spent time researching
behind the gestures meant to fray
a (sense) of yes and who I am
a life lived now but one that spans
a (sense) of right and wrong and black and white
defer the build yet spend erecting
one brick then another laid
a truer ‘I’ in life worth living
I can live off your creation
as autumn’s fall is colour’s station
open windows wide on windy days
and batten hatches when it’s warming
you waited for me without fussing
too long I thought yet so rewarding
what if the opposite is true
what if we try something we think we can’t do
what if sentiment blows the mind
what if what’s hidden we finally find
say hello to substance goodbye to void
discard a play-thing no longer a toy
rumble reason – quondam to know
sweet sensibilities from long ago
stumble upon desire at dawn
and leave doom behind like a thunderous storm
spring happy impressions and dance through the night
with sunshine your friend – the wind flying a kite
what if a weep from a willow at will
finds sentiment blowing – her branches stronger until…
walking down to the train I am followed by no-one
hearing their breath in the middle of spring
turning my head I see a couple –
smiling with force – (feathers from a wing)
of a bird at the back – by the door he lay sleeping
as I push the receptor to enter the station
how do I know the bird cannot fly
or is he simply a part – of my own creation
I go to approach him – but the train has appeared
making grand noises just as I suspected
my thumb and my forefinger touch the tip of his wing
and he splutters his feathers – injured (affected)
he is black as spades with a spatter of whiteness
a magpie perhaps – yet how can I say
yet he silently flutters unsteadily by
barely visible – in the darkness of day
did you see that bird; I say to the couple behind me
as I push harder and faster ahead to the door
they seem very small (almost midgets I thought)
and their voices are squeaky and fall to the floor
I sit on the train on a bench made for sharing
but alone I reside – without concern (without caring)
where goes that bird – flitting about in the tunnel in fury
a life made for one – the source of an ending
yet as I muddle along on the train bound for nowhere
the midgets appear and grow taller than me
we saw that bird; they both say – with a shared smile
and we brought him along so that he could be seen
and treated and cared for and loved and looked after
would you like to join us – that is – if you have time
I’d love to; I say – as we leave the train station
my day passing ridicule on the way to sublime
we stroll in the air
and she teases and dares
we dance in the sky
and she swims as she bares
…
her hand holding mine
as the theme-park ride flies
her eyes watching too
as love wanders through
…
though the garden in summer
struggles to bloom
they’ll be birds of paradise
blossoming soon
…
orange – green – yellow – blue
…
her time off – my joy
leaving work well behind
…
lemon – milk – butter – lime
…
paraphernalia – colourful times
…
my heart beating louder
as yearnings arise
the planet forgotten –
the weatherman shines
…
stealing my sunglasses
off my shoulder in spring
…
but a few, but a few
of the finest of things
