Tuesday, 13 August 2019

1 New Poem

Blood Loss

I felt it flowing through windows,
between walls, in salt air and sea spring
whispers we could take to brick
with us when fading starts,
trips the box breaker.

It struck me still as the
silver cups, upturned and making
noise replied tenfold down
dreaming streets.

I was the kind to go weary
in heat, dizzy-blank from
fear of fortune,

But in this time I am not
so rushed, three-sails and
wounded, yet again.

Monday, 1 July 2019

1 New Poem


Foot Shuffles

There goes again the scattered picture whims
to four corners and six seas,
a disappointed numbing when you lack
a still part of evening time to get lost
between and come undone from beer
bottle cap to the closing line.

I had a habit of not joining
thought the inconvenience too much and
too penetrating for all of that;

But you work on me like
anxiety pills, dissolved in water,
crisply drunk to drive out
concrete memories and be careful
of ringing bells across dust
and yard fronts,

Where we could have closed some
time ago, walking through port lines
touching in the impermanence, Singapore
transit, that our heat makes on screen.

Monday, 17 June 2019

1 New Poem


Burned Up Bundle

It was spectacular, sleepwalk and briny,
when I came out to wire shores for
a light lick of morning’s air;
felt something grow across from
wavering smoke signs, pit fire
leavings that criss-cross skies
and leave a breathless swimming dark
beneath.

When I wane in grandeur,
placed in bow-breaking time from
our good days that left marks deep
in skin damage, then I became
more plastic, with rains drifting through.

If I made the effigy stake, was
well-thought and worthy, it wouldn’t
have been so close to lifetime’s
defeat; still, too cold for all
that we were, just signals passing on
scrap ice and plated mineral.

Sunday, 9 June 2019

1 New Poem


Red Shift

The light strings spelt out Dutchman’s
fantasia, glowing to beckon with long-promised
touches of teak handicraft and finger-
stitched garments that float, sinking with
time beneath falling waters’ pressures,

that they were hung above in  bold colours,
draped out waiting for hearts broken from
sunshine headaches, bad moonshine memory,
was a reminder of cement floors
below, that pouring pace of things before

you came; what it took prepare
for the splinters and sweat streaks
that came out as centered demands,
laughing requests from the bottom of
somewhere deep in spirit that longed

for a night when things were so
broken even the front-facing air
had a quality of blood.

Monday, 20 May 2019

1 New Poem

Away from It

I feel so separate now:
broken from the string slice
of digits, dashes, keystrokes
that paint patterns in looping
gas leak through cloud showers,
make hazes in the morning I
cover to keep safe from
coughing fits and pitching ash.

Once reflected, once across
in our wonderful shape:
I was wary, rolled up sleeves
and stain-flecked smile,
but deepened in heart the expected
feeling thought mutual of
possessive skin clinging to each other.

Still, and reckless, was the
wrecking night that purred up:
the moment when you fell
to earth like all firework sparks
must in time, having faded, been
trapped between concrete and
ether.

Sunday, 5 May 2019

1 New Poem


Days of Brutalism

When lights come on,
jittering television snow in
BNI sign, it casts
through tree shadows
to the imposition of stone,
smooth-pouring concrete and
broken bone;

I listened to chanting
vibration of the city floors,
hand-scripts made blank
through passed sands
of age.

While line drying fell
through sun shade,
twisted in breeze,

There was a crackling
wish winter that made
me green again:

New against
plastic pitch of breathing

And matching wood plank stance.

Sunday, 14 April 2019

1 New Poem


Light Spectrum

I was talking in mystic chord
memory, in chime and pulling through
the light of all things

Across, across the battered bookkeeping
dollar sense of where we left to
stream beyond, looking up to stark

Shimmering blackness, whole points
of galactic time swallowed in
blinking pace before us.

When you take the raw end of things,
clasping and human against the bloody
edge of time, it gleams weary

Of all worked through sentiments,
the reduction to a firm figure
that brokers no wonder, no fancy flight,

It’s not me you toss to wolves,
to sharpened teeth, matted fur;

Only the sense-memory
of being there before.