like a lighthouse

My father was often like a lighthouse
Standing tall in solitude
Isolated and wind swept
On his island peninsula staring out to sea
My father could swim well


And would set out from the boathouse
Swimming for miles
While the family slept
On the island peninsula. Staring out to see
The ocean rise and swell -


A sheet of satin lifted by the moon. Mouthing
Bashoo-Bashoo to the grass,
The sound of crickets
In the afternoon’s lethargy, the humming of a bee
Buzzing like a bell


Beating at the ears of corn bending in the mouth
Of the coming storm. The smiles
Of each child returns except
They are now smiling at the owl up in the tree
And not the sound of the well


Formed waves licking at the lighthouse
Now, standing in the door
Is our mum. She sweeps
Out the legless tarantula eaten most ungracefully
By our dog. Who now smells


The owl in the tree. Near the boathouse,
Between the broken ribs
Of the old shipwreck
On the island peninsula we can now see
Rowing in on the swell

A ghostly silhouette in the shadow of the lighthouse
Its beacon flashing madly out to sea.
Some words are drowned
By the storm.
We can just make out, “one………..for….free”
This doesn’t make any sense
But from what we can tell

The storm is dying out and going south
Standing tall in the solitude
Of the ocean, with the wind sweeping
the island peninsula. Still, staring out to sea.
We know our father can swim well.

Be careful what you whisper in her ear at night

Be careful what you whisper in her ear at night
She might be dreaming, she might.
She may be idle she may be wild
And if her body is light
Riding reindeers through the night
Be careful what you whisper in the night
Words fork like lightning, words sink like stones
In that place she only knows
Asleep in the back shadowed by the height
Of a granite stone, a shelter from the storm
[On the leeward side]
There is elbowroom, just, to imagine things
To whisper to her at night

terracotta moon

The moon shone above a wall atop
Vines filled the terracotta pots
The night was hot

The moon fell in the terracotta pot
So I drew her pale and soft
And if she’s not
I am mistaken and not lucid enough
To know her smooth where I am rough

Soft monsters fell across the rocks
The birds arrived in pairs and left in flocks
Tides like knots
Tied us to time along the docks
We move to the clouds’ movements above
The clocks had stopped
If they did not
I was mistaken and not lucid enough
To know her warmth when I was frost
To know her storm when I was dust
To know her smooth where I am rough

Her, brightly above me and the wall and the terracotta pots

under loch and quay

Many men have swum here.
Those that forgot the drinking
Were diving under water
Not knowing they were sinking
 
Deep into the sediment,
We made them myths like Nessy
Their wave of arms from bank to bank
Shed into the Euphrates 

When the widows came here
Softly they were singing
Laments of the waters
And its’ ghosts they could be kissing

And now the children come here
Like the ships to Sydney
Foreign to the waters’
Depth and the aborigines

 

 

the time of reply

Rivers flow towards each other
Flow into blue oceans
Rivers like ribbon
Ribbons pulling them together
Red chords and black velvet ribbons

Shivers from a beautiful creature
Spread from a stone thrown in the ocean
The shivers are mirrored
Not the same but similar
To the other side of the mirror

Where everything is simple, everything is simple

Her eyes opened like butterflies
His eyes opened alike
And from their mouths
Moths flew out

And everything was simple. Everything was simple

Mirror, mirror, “all’s not gold that glitters”
Echo replied from the other side of the mirror
Shiver, shiver, her beautiful figure
Sent from her back into his body’s shivers

Shivers like Ribbons
Holding them together
Red chords and black inken rivers
River flow into the ocean
Where all that’s in the Ocean is the Rivers

small price to pay

this is a composite of parts not unfamilar
this is the chemistry of hearts and quicksilver
in our blood

as in complete and in part of all that's matter
there is a puzzled form to start piecing the pieces together

my bud you promised me a rose kiss
and that there's a chance
a small chance to make a difference

it's a small price to pay my love

This is a mystery that's dark, full of grace and pleasure
there is a tethered storm with sharp claws and soft feathers

my bud you promised me a rose kiss
and that there's a chance
a small chance to make a difference

it's a small price to pay my love

railway sleepers

laying on the lines
stretched out on their backs
dreaming of the stars
and reading Kerouac's 'On the Road'

Collecting dreams in paper cups
memories in sacks
spill out guitars and violins
those temporal almanacs of orphaned odes

railway sleepers rotten teeth
railway sleepers trinket keepers

their tongues were jumbled years ago
and when their muscles slack
the weeds grow in between the
bones of broken backs and no abode

railway sleepers rotten teeth
railway sleepers trinket keepers

take turns

How long would you wait?
How long would it take
for you to realise
everything is quiet?
If everything is black
and there's no turning back

How long?

Let's take turns
to turn it over in our hands
until you understand

A penny or a smile,
A limb or too agile?
Shoes upon your feet
or a foot or more of street?

How long?

Let's take turns
to turn it over in our hands
until we understand

Je vous souhaite une bonne route
Alors, Je vous souhaite une bonne route

I wanted to tell you

She's not thinking about what she aught
Off again, off to Spain to collect some thoughts
In the company of men
In a pension with a german and an italian

sorry that I'm sad tonight
I'm sorry that I'm sad and I wanted to tell you
that I wanted you
That there's no hope without love
Not when there's no peace on the BBC

If the size don't fit your thought
think again and rearrange what you've been taught
I have dreamt of many things
Castles crumbling, an evening with the King

sorry that I'm sad tonight
I'm sorry that I'm sad and I wanted to tell you
that I wanted you
That there's no hope without love
Not when there's no peace on the BBC

Dirty Money

There’s coke on the queen’s head, it’s dirty money
The crown in your pocket is dirty money

Dirty money, Dirty money

As Charles Darwin's friend said, “Dirty money”
A pound for each florint in dirty money

Dirty money, dirty money

You saved with a pig bank

the big sleep

She packed her bag with dynamite and went to work as usual
Whispering a ‘last goodbye’ and going down past the cathedral
Where the town is tired and you’re tied
In a big sleep
Where nobody wants to speak

Rolled back eyes show only white, not an iris not a pupil
Eaves are dropping from the sky falling onto passers by
Where the town is tied, when you’re tired
In a big sleep
Where nobody wants to speak about the things that they all want to talk about

Her house were rolled into the night, tucked into a fire’s side
Freckles scattered in the sand, dark veins divided the land
In the big sleep and no we don't want to speak about it

indian dreamer

Indian dreamer tell me your thoughts now cause I am weary
and I know there is naught holding you near me
lying back in a stream of consciousness that's turning dreary
with your Indian dreams within and without me

don't trouble your head
put the night to bed

When trouble returns dress is soft words under the city
I never thought you'd have somewhere to keep these
thoughts of the past. Some thoughts at last, some thoughts are eerie
Still your Indian dreams are within me and without me

Don't trouble your head
put the night to bed

One more time

There’s a whole lot of tooth in your grin
But not much bite from your Doberman’s
It’s the same on the plate again
Spoon fed from you to the nations
 
There’s a whole lot of swing in your second hip, hip
Hip’s the fuel for inflation
So here is a broom for the kids
To sweep the room for all their relations
 
Don’t play it one more time
If you play it one more time don’t count me in
Don’t play it one more time, again
 
There’s a whole lot of red in your skin
And too much white on the paper
Still, that a whole lot of grin
Who’s ‘the beat’ for the new generation?

Milk and Honey

A piece of moon is above the house
And under the roof of a dry mouth
 
Falls a drop of water
Formed across the border
Sailing on a wind swept
Up the coast into the harbour

bringing milk and honey
 
They arrived at noon, both covered in snow
To hear the cellist play the cello
 
At the hotel
 
It was hotter than a sauna
The sun rose and soon
Settled in a corner

singing milk and honey 

Now Good Fortune is curled on the couch
With ruby, ruby lips quiet as a mouse.

On the way back

I still remember the songs that played on the way back from
Dinner with your uncle and aunt, they’d made enough to feed Addis Ababa
I don’t remember their names or the words that we sang to ourselves
Now, all I can feel is the shape of your palm where it lay softly on my arm 
 
All the way,
On the way
Back to
Your parents house
 
I could see hundreds of stars and a space they had saved for us
To hide away from the world and the smoke we inhaled from the cars
I didn’t know all their names but they gave us a song for our own
And all I can feel is the weight of your hair where it lay gently on my arm
 
All the way,
On the way
Back to
Your parents house
 
There’s not a word I can say in your ear to explain what I know,
So let’s fly away from this world to look back from the stars on the drunken forests of Alaska
We can remember the way that we came to this place from our own
If all we can feel is the weightlessness of our own bodies when we lift our arms 
 
All the way,
On the way
Back to your parents house