Thursday, 27 October 2011

177 Miracles; no, I didn't know the cat's arse was significant either..

As the ground thaws
Wreathed fragments of
Mist materialises
In the dips of slopes

In the hospital bed
Prioritising continues
A list of things to live for
A list of names

Out of all the morphine
Phantasmagoria, the most fantastic
Thoughts from the future
Are recovery and love

Mist multiplies in substantial slabs
Bounces back headlights makes
The air turn thickly white
The edges of the road are gone

Road-kill slouched
At the verge, skin rolling with
Revolting gorging chomping
Revelling maggots

Foam-white wave tops fling inland
Into visibility, joyous and dramatic
Just for the love of it
Spattering froth across tide-lines

A squirt of light alerts the fish
Barely enough to reflect their silver
Sided hustling for food
In the wave-churned kelp

Seaweed bumps with fish
Faint glint of silver and
Electric pulses make
A shark’s clock tick

Beautifully designed beast
Shoulders from the depths
Instinct signals time for

No-one has ever heard
The cat fart, even at her
Most relaxed, draped around her
Wicker basket, chin up, eyes shut

The edges of things
Lighten first; wispy outline
Of clouds above mist
In a pre-emptive sky

Regular places my dreams like
To visit include a mountain
Cave above a lake
A boat is moored waiting

Odd memories my dreams
Will ponder include unusual
Road-kill; a pregnant wild boar
Her unborn young scattered nearby

Mesmerised by the oddity, we
Went back to look at the corpse
Vultures came, the maggots
Did not have time to hatch

Death comes back and back
Repeat visits, in dreams, at the
Verges of roads, it is trying
To lead me somewhere

And in this hour before the dawn
I see into the darkness and I see
The balance, the interplay
The stillness as we spin through space

And as I dream I love and learn
My intuition rolls like flotsam
My soul can travel and my veracity
Holds firmer than the cat’s arse

Sunday, 23 October 2011

160 quirky moments caught in my virtual ink

From the kitchen a memory spell
Of scents trickles upwards
Honeymoon musings of candle wax
Lime zest, fresh coriander

Sleep and recollections splice
Warm rain falls knee deep
Flip flops float off, pagoda roof
Cuts a wake through the water

Cut to drinking coconut
On a boat, the boat has
Eyes painted on the prow
And legs, amphibious legs

Aware that she is dreaming
She takes the reins of the walking boat
Steers it to a mountain hideout
Takes a swim in the clear lake

Not every house has
Two kitchens, this house is
Bolted together like Frankenstein’s
Monster, uniquely clumsy

Surfaces meet at odd angles
Some of this house seems to have
Been drawn by a child
In cheerful inaccurate crayons

Cloud cover differentiates, slightly
Lighter than the background
Night sky, barely perceptible
Perpetual flux

Under cloud cover the air
Temperature warms, enough to
Disperse the forming frost
The washing line unbobbles in drips

Morning is forming, cell by cell
The dawn is created. From the
Dark the day evolves, grows
Legs, lungs, opposable thumb

Heartbeat the size of
A thumbnail, this life is
Not ready, tiny brave heart-thumps
Fingers like fronds of sea anemone

Hope in the dark, prayers
Even acceptance to let him go
He sleeps, he breathes
The incubator keeps him safe

It is feasible that amino acids
Arrived on Earth from the
Melting water content of a
Glancing chance-met comet

Clouds have no DNA, the
Echo of form is pure chance
A quirk of water
Molecules variable density 

Wednesday, 19 October 2011

147 miracles (includes slug toothpaste & arachnid sushi)

1,000 Miracles in One Day Project Update

I have had the experience of running, barefoot, over a very fat slug and it did go pop. Also our dog relishes fresh spider, and I am suspicious of what the rats are up to in the back-kitchen roof space. At an average of 41.66 miracles per hour, this post brings me to nearly 4am. 

Queasy pop underfoot
Unlucky tube of slug is
Squeezed from life
Like accidental toothpaste

Starlit unshod sanguine walking
Juxtaposed by sliding in
Slug-guts, shouldn’t be funny but
Tragicomic giggles come

Last breaths are coming, in
The quiet bed, and the last
Nostalgias; dreams are thought of
Integral parts of the whole

Spider sidles, eight feet tapping
On the laminate floor, terminated
By the inquisitive dog and her
Arachnid sushi snack habit 

This is an uncomplicated hour 
To drift away, in a graceful turn of 
Diurnal tide, into the fluid
Calm catharsis of night

Beyond questioning, like reverse
Birthing, the past, the future
Cannot be thought of, only
This present sensation, fading

Shadows begin, this is the early 
Start of day. Light dilutes darkness
Shade by demi-shade
Shadows begin, shape by shape

Birds detect light, one measure
Of light to 1,000,000 of dark
Swiftly bustling into business in
The complicated language of birds

Another key, another door
Opens, shoes dropped under
The coat rack, dirty aching feet 
Bathe under a warm tap

These feet have danced for
Hours, day after week after
Month after year, they love
This rhythm of dance, walk, rest

Sticky steamed silk is peeled 
Free, tired body flops 
On supple covers, closes 
Eyes, drifts back to the dance

Inside the ambulance is
Shiny, attentive, distracting
The cupboards are neatly
Built in, it all fits

Still life in the fridge; plucked
Chicken, scrubbed potatoes
Brown onions, pale parsnips 
A bundle of bright carrots 

Three levels of four tubs, 2 by 2
Fill the well of the chest freezer
Twenty-four gallons of windfalls
Catalysed by -20 degrees Celsius

It is always dark in the jam cupboard
The end cupboard of the ornate sideboard
In the dining room. On opening, layers of
Glossy jars reflect rows of silhouettes

Tidied rain-damp lumps of
Wood-scraps, in the fire-pit, are
Traversed by snails, they paint
Wet ribbons in frost 

Curious head on a foot, that
Resides in a spiralled shell, the 
Gastropod mollusc tilts its 
Eye-horns as it crosses bark

Nocturnal mouse has the 
Basic rodent schedule in mind
Feed, defecate, evade predation
Chew stuff, procreate, sleep, repeat

Rats hang out in the back-kitchen
Roof-space, it’s like a clubhouse
For rats, to come and plan the
Next elaborate heist

Cat’s paws perceive ice 
Track back to the house
To the pillow in a basket and
The bowl full of cat biscuit

Saturday, 15 October 2011

127 miracles in: 3am car crash

1000 Miracles In One Day

My brief to myself was to find the moments when something wonderful is happening (if you are looking at it correctly.) More specifically, the moment that can make you aware of wonder, even if it isn't a comfortable feeling, hence the inclusion here of a car accident. The moment itself is usually calm and appreciative, hence a verse also on how easy it is to boil a kettle. 

Steam from the kettle spout
Escalates, there are numerous
Reasons not to find sleep
And equating routes to remedy

Because the night obscures
It is a blindfold, because it 
Hides things it is devious
In degrees, from imp to demon

Tapping fingers while the
Soothing drink cools in the
Abysmal dreary hours 
Steam rises and takes a bow 

For this infusion, water 
Surges from tap into kettle
The light flicks off when
The water is boiled

Steam and the flickering 
Of the digital clock-face
Duet. No other illumination
Or entertainment is required

On the beach, no luminosity 
Only from the sound 
Of waves on sand-grains 
Will you find your way

Chamomile tea moment
Is operational, the body 
Feels heavy, the inner 
Dialogue skips words 

The kitchen switch is clicked
Off, stair light switched
On, turned off. Feet tread
Carefully across to the bed

Sleep denied arrives
To contented gratitude
It takes the baggage 
From exhausted limbs

Released, each muscle sighs
True selves crack the shell
Anything can emerge
Unweighted, emulate flight

Sleeping like laughter
Necessary oblivion, the 
Negligible density in which
Possibility extends 

Night is a conduit
The constellations sparkle
Along it, dreams undrape wings
From it; bird, dragon, metaphorical

Along the washing line
Orbs of lined up ice, dot to dot
Above the path to the field, above
Firewood stacked in a lean-to shed

New mother sits up awake
Turns her head to the cot 
The baby is there, it was
Not a dream

Baby in the cot has sleeping
Perfected, mapping the
Known universe, forming 
Notions of sensory experience

The airlocks blip, pressure 
From the fermentation process
Sugar becomes alcohol and carbon dioxide
Finds a vent

Heart shaped leaves of the 
Big houseplant thrive
Cluster over the batches
Of blipping fermenting fruit

Because the roof leaked
The bathroom window is left 
Open. New plaster dries, over a
Series of days and nights

All of the toothbrushes, face creams
And flannels are gathered up
In a box in the bedroom, waiting 
The plaster gets lighter in patches 

Pristine roof tiles reflect
Scattered stars and houselights
Water rolls over them, no more 
Rain dripping indoors

On the dual carriageway a tired
Mistake necessitates an ambulance
Everything is blurred, it swirls
Like a Van Gogh sky

It feels like hyperspace
The spin and flash and crunching
Thump of compacting metal, glass
Shattering, the car stops

The car has stopped 
Being a car, it has
By measures of velocity
Transitioned to wreckage

Deep-rooted bruises burst
Into flower, cubes of glass
Glint in the revolving blue
Emergency service lights

A list of unusual luck is
Ticked through. Heart beating
Breathing, limbs attached
Toes that wiggle

High-heeled shoes, scuffed
In hand, bare feet on 
Cold tarmac feel 

Music and moments replay
3am on the way home
Smiling, dance sweat 
Cooling on silk

Walking is connected
Is feeling the night air
On skin
Is being part of this

Tuesday, 11 October 2011

99 and don't judge the drunk

Sad, but the dog fart lightens the mood. 

Night terrors have had the run of
The house, churning up dust and
Dirt, they leave echoes of
Laughing and chaotic footprints

The dog wakes, she 
Stretches, farts, her face 
Curves like smiling, she
Settles back to sleep

This last night in the old
House, memories, bright
Ghosts, walk through from
Room to room

When we leave these
Visitations of our histories
Are not forgotten, we simply
Will not live amongst them 

The new house, until now, viewed 
By day, the creaks and clanks
Of its night-sounds are 
Intimate revelations

Blandly painted, everywhere
Safe beige, tomorrow
Colour invades, brings some 
Guts to the bone shades

A slumped man in a doorway stirs
He remembers that he should have
Gone home, his trousers are cold
And wet, he hopes its beer

An arm stretched out to follow
The wall, the stumbling drunk man
Can walk, his hands and feet
Know where he lives

He knows he knows where
He is going only none of it
Is recognisable, he pats a dog
Made of brick, shaped like a wall

Gravity organises the sky
The stars flow with it
They pull, they are pulled
In the universal formal dance

Key in the lock, sharp 
Realisation, the drink
Was intended to keep him
From remembrance

A second room reflects
In the window glass
Another lamp made of light
Attracts a phantom moth 

A hand reaches to follow
The wallpaper, the stairs
Are found, then the bed, then
Sleep buffers loss

In the labour ward, chin
Pressed to breastbone
Dignity irrelevant, a tiny
Head is crowning

In the wood burner, doors 
Snapped shut, a rogue flame
Licks out, the log is
A crashed dragons skull

The spider is always
Going underneath things
As though the dark 
Is insufficient subterfuge

From sleep, rising, eyelid 
Flicks open, shuts, into
Sleep descending, rotating
Through the cycle

Eyes roll under cover
Process rapid cryptic 
Jigsaw detail, sift boxes
Of pieces into pictures 

Cat walks her own
Path on the edge of the 
Field, there is one mouse
Hindfoot left on the doormat

Air like glass, brittle
Edged, clear, the temperature
Drops, etches frost
Crosshatched scratches

A wet tangled ball of
Fabric waits behind the 
Door of the washing machine
Bobbles of frost on the line outside

An idea swims into focus
Splits like fertilised cells
Like fractals unfurling, it  
Expands, recurs, connects

A man is crying, delirious
In sleep, his defences
Are howled down, grief
Cuts a gap like an autopsy

Newborn fingers play
Invisible instruments
We hear the music
The immaculate frequency 

Thursday, 6 October 2011

75 miracles logged; return of the odd sock pile & a vivid nightmare

Recognising a fear definitely counts as a miracle. Fear makes you appreciate life,  knowing what you fear helps you know yourself etc. 
And no one should ever underestimate the importance of socks. 

Laid like pulled teeth
In fields, straw monoliths 
Celebrate transition
Summer crop winter fodder 

Along the pavement shines
Islands of mirrored light
Rainwater pools in uneven
Corners of wonky slabs

In each reflective surface 
An upside-down lamppost
It is an image, a visual
Echo, bouncing back

Under tarmac, under earth
Deeper, geological dramas
The rock is boiling
Pushing at plate boundaries

Tectonics are beyond control
At the fault-lines, minerals, metals
Water, volcanoes bubble up
The gods and monsters of geology

Night rests above, not across
All of Earth, there is not enough
To go around, we share 
Day and night in rotation

In the cloak of sleep, fears
Are smuggled in, revealing
Points of weakness as we 
Wake to check the breech

In sleep, destinies are
Settled in or driven out
Dreams can solidify, be
Processed into truth

Seven odd socks heaped, one
Close to reconciliation, four
Close enough to match
Two keep company and wait

Messages are sent at all hours
On rising, we can be busy
Immediately, night images
Compressed, not deleted

Describe the different densities
Of darkness, if you are awake
Go outside, away from
Artificial shadow

This night is solid, cast from lead
Endless solidity, the infinity of it
Can provoke vertigo, the weight
Of it presses out your breath

Close your eyes, it will not
Get darker, the abyss is 
Everywhere, it is not part
Of you, you are part of it

This is the shade of feeling
Perfect beautiful sadness
In which you curl up and hide
Like a tiny shell under a storm

Curl small in the depths
Allow the squall overhead
To pass, there is nothing
To be done to influence it

This is the safe vantage of
Gentle nostalgia, this darkness
Loops around, wraps you up
Swoops, holds, suspends

Anxiety rises like a bruise
A tender point of recent injury
This hurt cannot be compressed
It must be free to heal

Like strong black coffee
Alert to the point of
Paranoia, the air quivers
Shakes with fear

Cold limbs tremble cannot 
Move, heart thumps hot, it
Burns to live, longs for another 
Ordinary day to marvel at