Convergence

None of this will sooner be fixed
Unless there’s some convergence,
Some commonality of purpose
Across all the eight divides:
Politicians,
Protesters,
Conglomerates,
Educators,
Scientists, and
Cause celebres,
Artists in their artists’ beds;
Capitalists in their
Marxist sheds;
Royalists,
Republicans dead,
Leaders and followers,
Families and a hermitage;
Straddling the global
And ego-moribund purpose
Of the macrobiotic;
The squalid and the divine,
The sanctimonious and the suppressed
Within my squid-like mind.

I want my flint spark find
To be returned,
Folded into my soul,
To undo all this time.

You Cannot Lose What You Have Not Got


I doubt my English citizenry,
(Minnow-country flapping

Like a long-since iridescent
Fish now ugly out of water,

On a rock, eyes diseased –
Opercula, and withered fins) –

Would neither blink
Nor care very much

If all our Earth did disappear –
Swallowed up

In a Black Hole’s epiglottis –
All skies and song,

Joyful, infinite nature,
Rhinoceros to a missel-thrush

All lost,
Souls too, with veins made

By rains and rare precious metals,
Just as long as there’s power enough

During regurgitated
Commercial breaks

To re-fill ferried kettles.