Archive for March 24th, 2013

24/03/2013

Questions on a Homeless Night

 

I wonder

 

Have you ever been alone?

Just you, a cliff, an empty sea,

A past and future lost for words,

A pallid memory of the sun.

 

To feel the swell of night’s updraft,

The pull of moon towards the tide,

The drag of skeletons in chalk,

The thought you never had the time.

 

And have you ever found the strength

In silence, stars and drifting gulls?

And knowing there is only you:

Just you, a cliff, an empty sea.

 

The silver waves and shingle roar:

I wonder, has your life meant more?

 

(Brighton, 1989)

 

24/03/2013

Rylstone

 

Up on the moor, beneath the crag,

A ruin rots its walls in rain,

The bracken shoots break through the rust

Of last years’ growth and crumbling rock.

 

The curlew’s call, reclaim the sky,

Await the screams of summer’s swifts.

This point round which disaster whirls,

Is still and calm and sorrow deep

 

They left the shell and took the heart.

From hanging hopes the stories drip,

From dropping ropes and sheering axe.

A ruin stands its speechless ground.

 

And every spring those curlews call,

There’s freedom here to question all.

 

 

24/03/2013

Second Hand Clothes

 

Across the car park cobbles shone,

Inverted haloes, drizzle formed,

Before I crossed the road I’d smell

The resin smoke and naptha rags.

 

Cravats and faded patterned shirts,

Cut off from history, cast adrift:

The gladioli, hearing aids,

The ancient fabrics, damp and cold.

 

Above a tape of Mark E. Smith,

Of Morrissey, The Doors and Cud,

The doorbell rang, the clothes rails scratched,

The northern rain kept up its beat.

 

It could have been a thousand years:

How many hands, how many tears?

 

 

(Blackburn, 1987)

 

24/03/2013

Degrees North

 

Beyond the north: a second north.

Beyond that north the memories fade,

And tales take hold of dark and ice,

Of endless nights, of swans in flight,

 

Of dead who walk with mirror step,

Of land where rock will crack and burn,

Of skies that burn, of snows that burn,

Of seas that swell with monster’s bones.

 

Beyond that north, there’s nothing more,

There are no dead, there’s nothing born:

The formless still, the waveless sea,

A void as deep as space is cold.

 

It’s in us all, that silent space.

It’s in our blood, it’s in our graves.