Eirôn’s Reprise

My home is a place of pain and of pride,
May my history shock and maybe surprise;
In memories made I cannot reside,
Over life’s table we drown and reprise.

We lost, and in forfeit we laughed and we cried;
We won, and in gaining we argued and vied;
Endless injustice, only Eirôn survived –
Letting go of our wealth, we suddenly died.

Out Of Body

I am within a constantly spinning
Out of body experience;
It's true that Suzie made me do it.
Give me a cello and a double bass
And I ascend the braced confines
Of a marshy soul so sublime
You could flush for a thousand years
With all your torch-bearing trodden might
And a dynamic jubilation of flutes
And yet never find a mallow-pheasant,
And yet never see its sparkled flight.

Pristina

My love does not sustain me -
Autumnal rain, alerts anew
For loved-ones long since missing,
Cordon over whole hearts blue.

Nor now hope sustain me -
Basalt-livered, they stood
Our sodden searchers down,
Blood-deep in myth and rue.

My mizzle-soul in mistle,
We cheered a plum rakija!
Secrets in a windy keep,
The citadel is incomplete

And so we dance mazurka.

Makrókheir

A tutor I met from Cappaducia,
Home of hills in white,
With hands as long and godly thin
As a lost Andalucian delight
Within such market throngs,
Clothing of mute go-betweens
And azimuth mosaics
Draped over impossibly
Bulbous urns concealing frogs
Carried on the blue heads
Of astrophysically bright
Prophetesses and their sons,
Absorbeing my attentions
In orbs of their golden horizons.
Relief had carved a mitre,
His hieroglyphics spoke
Through tokens in mouths
For passage to an afterlife,
Though sometimes also of loss
So profound as to stay unspoken;
Or if not unspoken then staccato;
Yet all that remains of his riches
Are in seven broken glass cabinets
Beneath a taxidermied albatross
In a museum, in a long-ago Morocco.

Pyrena

All the processed meals
And all the steady cravings;
All those times I’d mostly feel
My esurient sense of failing;
All these glands within me
Like silkworms masquerading,
Blind their burrow-mouths must be,
These ever-unworldly sensations;
Saliva in my pancreas
And bilious in my breathing;
Memories bladder-manacled
To strangely knotted bleachers
From where I sat once witnessing
Impassively, all my days receding;
With those who would abuse me
Only then, to obliterate
And smash these blistered benches –
Refuting my existence,
My purpose; those perpetrators,
Those missing old soul-eaters.

Incomprehensibly then,
Such totalities
And inexplicable mythologies,
I step out from shadows
Framing my toxic profligacy
With rhododendron, rose
And briar-choking ivy
Bordering my inadequacies
Made tangible from the tacit,
Born out from yellowed ivory.

How odd, I reflected
In afternoon relapses,
That our connections,
These mysteries,
Regardless neither of
Cooling distances
Nor cold absences which only show
Just how much we know
Each other’s oldest ossified routines
As we trespass through boundaries
Only then, again and kneaded again,
Transposed into our folded selves,
Our living sea.

Natasha Renewed

You were the envy of centuries,
Your love the unplundered loot
Under plum-coloured helmets
From mud-lusty Danes of Harthacnut.

You moved into a house
On a slope (made hazardous,
I imagine, by frost and ice
That yet must be a long way off
Along another horizon),
Next door to my grandmother
Who rested dutifully
In the annex
(Like an old mole
Upon your jawbone,
You resigned yourself
To her perspiring presence)
Carved from a former saloon
Where of an afternoon she snoozed
While keeping vouchsafed in a jar
Her one last sandstone tooth.
O how a home that could not exist
Yet appear with a simple veneer
Much like any other rooted
On this strange village street,
The only difference being
When you opened the door
There was nothing beyond
A jaded porch, lavender
And heather turned to dust
Along with dried
Forget-me-nots and
Compass points made moot.
You had changed your name,
I do not know why,
To Natasha, your eyes
As wide as a frontier
Where swirled surprise
And regret in those glass bowls
Once burning like calderas,
And in your hands
Scentless celeriac,
Cauliflower florets
And a head of herring.
Somewhere along the line
You bought eggs from a garage
In a parallel place and time.
At the very extremeties
Of our dormant love,
I knew too late to appreciate
That which I could never touch,
Neither ending nor the essence.

This dampening dream-like nature,
A long green duffel coat and hair
Once vibrant as sunsets
Over Mediterranean ports
And on to far Aden
And golden Sharjah,
Cities we knew a long time ago,
Now grey as a downpour in May
With a woodland scarf,
A husband – I could not meet his eyes –
Two children and my phone
Running low of charge
Like my soul, which is why
I step through my dreamcatcher
To wherever you are present,
Mapless, stateless revenant,
In a rendezvous pretences,
Preferring to be this lost,
I would rather be surrounded
By all those silent deaths above
Than tortured by the humdrum sounds
Of life removed from your love,
Modern and irrelevant.

Gravitate

You gravitate towards
A sadder song,
Ended the being
Where you would not belong,
Hurts to return
And hurts to move on;
Autopilot, Rubicon.

Sometimes, insurmountable
Are these feelings
To survive
An eggshell minute;
To contemplate
Is too much pain,
This world without you
Fingerprinting
Permissible limits.

Sadder, yes,
For if only you lived
To know the joy
In light you sought
And thought beyond
All your perceptiveness,
All your intelligence,
Instead, permeated and bled,
Permeates to this day
With all such grace
And truly intangible poise
Of miracles, abundantly
Transfusing through
Everything we did and yet can do,
In this safely stored-up knowledge
Would you still have demurred,
The abdicator absconded.

Valedictions

Valedictions for you,
We do not accede;
Valedictions for you,
Nor do we recede;

None superseded,
None to subscribe,
No more spun your wool
For pulling our eyes;

No souls contorting
For far-faulted causes,
No more conforming
Under horse-trammeled forces.

Valedictions for you,
No longer we thrive,
Only lessons unlearned
For liars survived.