Sunbird

She is my bird of sun,

My day cannot begin before she rises.

All ensuing acts and compromises,

The very precious fabric it comprises,

Have only now begun.

At her point of peak

Her radience delights this panorama.

Her grace distills achievement from raw drama,

She blends her unique recipe of karma 

With elegant mystique.

Through everything that has been,

She's effortlessly ridden on the breeze 

Like a simple dhow upon the rolling seas.

She rests again, high in the mighty trees,

Until a new dawn heralds her reprise

And my sunbird sets the scene.

Let Sleeping Cats Lie

My cat is fast asleep.
It humours me to see him
in a slumber quite so deep.
I wish that I could be him.

Let It Out, Keep It In

I cannot read the angry words of other angry men.
I cannot get inside their heads or empathise their pain.
I don't use their vocabulary,
Recoil from its brutality
And fear the latent anger of the spaces in between.
You would think me sympathetic
To the laments of the poetic
And I am no heartless critic of the places they have been.
I just cannot read the angry words of other angry men.

I could not write a diary of such personal despair
Such depths of self-enquiry and the beasts you find down there.
I could neither brave the darkness
Nor the sweaty light of frankness,
The inner sibling rivalry with my schizophrenic frère.
I would wrap myself in fiction,
Using metaphor and diction,
Cowering in a library on a wonky-legged chair,
But I couldn't write a diary of such personal despair.

The Jogger

Steady breathing.
In.
Out.

An asthmatic wheeze.
Out.
In.

Unexpected gradient.
Power.
Burn.

Rehydration.
Stitch.
Walk.

Change of surface.
Bounce.
Resume.

Determined final extra push.
Warm.
Down.

Endorphins.
Addictive.
High.

Sense of accomplishment.
Tomorrow.
Again.

My empty hands, empty arms

Where is my boy? Where can he be?
As I sit writing poetry
and watching fathers drinking tea
with families for company,
I close my eyes but only see
the emptiness upon my knee
where my beautiful boy should be.

Where is my girl? How does she do?
I fear the things I wish I knew
about the faultless way she grew,
resigned to post a thought or two
in verses impromptu:
an imaginary rendezvous,
not the endlessness of every queue.

Where is my continuity?
Where is the strength to continue?

To fall asleep and rise aware

In this time
In this space
In this calm
And restful place

To breathe in deep
And taste fresh air
To fall asleep
And rise aware

Here and now
No more, no less
The why and how
Of mindfulness

In my head
All is clear
The way ahead
No stress, no fear

In this peace
In my zone
To feel release
To be alone

To breathe in deep
And taste fresh air
To fall asleep
And rise aware

Norsemen

Over the fen
The Norsemen are coming
The fire-bringers torching
Mud hamlets scorching
The Norsemen are coming
Over the fen.

Under the moon
The silver meres shimmer
Feet crash like thunder
Clattering plunder.
Screaming, rampaging,
like death waves raging,
The silver meres shimmer
Under the moon.

Over the fen
The Norsemen are coming.
Masters of fright
Marauding at night.
The Norsemen are coming
Over the fen.