squiddly

“I’ll always take what you say, with a pinch of salt” This, She said to me without a touch of the iron Required to wrinkle out the truth, which belies a Mother’s belief At twenty thousand miles of distance

When I departed Elizabeth’s dream nobody heard her imperious screams Silent they were to this treacherous boy ragging on antipodean soil Silent they were to this frenzied ear Clearing the air in some

Houses bear with a certain solitude- Windows stare with eyeless black Boards are washed, a timeless servitude They house the dead, but do they know The living looking back? Pale in the vale of sun-stripped

This is the wind that blew in uninvited; a stray note, wafted from the car in front, I followed it home, that hand uncurled lightly through the passenger window, conducting the planing air, smoothing Frail

You sit tight. While I invent another word For the world burning While symphonies play, and Quite wonderfully turning, My mind defines your inevitable decay You sit tight. While we – yes us, work this

Now that the house finally surrenders, To silence on my terms My divided time now renders All the clawed back lines Time interred by the slow procession of beasts, Burdened by image made, for minds that

Late is the hour, later the light, Yet I could stay up here all night, Following, lighthouse swinging low, sweeping beams through green shallows Over there, shall I call it sight? No more, red glimmer,

Now that the house finally surrenders, To silence on my terms My divided time now remembers How that age has burned Time interred by the slow procession of beasts, Burdened by image made, for minds that

When the dam burst And swift it came onto the parched and brittle land, the lift and breach and pour of sudden sluice, and down the dam wall came, while cursing all that passionless void which reigned

You sit in a world of framed, glazed words crazed by age and patinas passed down through dust to their livid surfaces encrusted, windows, once filled in by the coloured eye of living minds worlds that

On the wind a wing of wave form elegant, organised flurry contorting into the muscular dark light on clouds the twisting DNA spiral miracles that lift from the estuary, from the sea. The grey salt water

I brake my sudden spring of step, to still and slow, so I can take in precious things, windows that hang like jewels, shine dark to one confined inside this world. Within a prism arc of colour that adorns

  All the lightening ridge along We drove All day, through dappled warmth and cool Under canopy abode, and slid along The road, to the perpetuity of waves Beauties heaped on beauty, climbing vista

It is morning, I hear the sky tearing Itself apart, cloud limb from limb in gales. No longer early and I wake to start On clattering bailiff windows, so alert I reach for reasons that are known, yet scrawl