Foxholes

My missing fox-soul searched,
Far from foxholes flooded;
Faux Moon muzzle-mud observed,
Drizzle cubs cold-blooded.
Her vulpine veins saponified,
Her den reborn inverted,
My hair aflame personified
One less soul converted.
Refrain a sale, saint to ermine,
Daylight’s dearth, unearthly bowl;
Something singing for your soul
For longer life determined.

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None superseded,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.

In Memoriam

Corridor necessities
Amid vomitoria policies,
A mind in memoriam;
For benches searched
Or even Delphic creeds
Though every turn
Fired memories
Across my synapses,
And how they burned;
I may never achieve
That Field of Reeds
Across the frightening river,
When reason is deserting
And yesteryear still hurting,
Irony is shaped by
Hephaestos beserkly
Hammering my soul
Once golden and yet
Now smouldering,
Malleable, and dirty;
With each strike he sang
A weapon for a war we lost
Before conscription started.

Someone stole the show
While, in cells below I waited;
So I write, not to remember
But instead, to purge, forget,
And now is nothing,
Is all I have left.

Azalea Eyes

I am resigned into being
Terrified by Time,
A body ageing before my life,
Tendrils thwarting limbs entwined,
Elongating through nostrils
Conducive to a waking mind.

With azalea eyes
This day is the same day
As forever and a moment;
The contents, mostly illusory,
Dilatory, dissatisfies;
We sometimes see a fleeting glimpse
In passing of what would later
Become dislodged
And permanently broken,
Acknowledging all we always knew
But which was never spoken.

Marshland Road

Eventually,
Those marshy roads
You pleasantly drove
On Sunday morning
Overloads,
Beyond skeletons made
From fenny pheasants
Ancient and less clawed
By toothless crows
O wide-eyed
Skies below,
Circus tents
And badger’s nose,
Swingbridge blues,
A bull to doze,
Will be essentially
As archaic and unexplained
As brittle canopic jars
Buried under
Tessaraed mosaics
And unidentifiable
Canine remains
In the tomb of
Amenhotep,
Second Pharoah,
A God aflame afloat.

Samphire Coast

I was made, long ago,
Stirred in a broth
Of pigeon legs
And prisoner bones,
To carry on my back
Weighted packs
Of ingredients tossed
In plastic entrapments;
A jar of pain, like star anise,
Hurt, like saffron,
And for loss, lovage,
Samphire coastlines
And a bay leaf
Or two spared from a frost.
I make my payments in salt,
Mostly, though sometimes
Also in a love that’s lost;
How easy it seems
To touch the golds of this
Inadequate ductile god.
All this explains why
I peddle the boards
With eternal spinal loads,
And why I am magnetised
To saddest folk songs only;
Miasmic mallow the marsh –
A spacious, sacred place
To autograph my heart.

Jāta

Evolution is testing me;
Her step-sister, Society
Arrested me, complicity.

Canal side paths I cannot walk,
An ancient pump disused
Within a bruising of hedgerows;
My gaumy brain encrusted
With tawny bone and moss.

Deep within me,
Peaty bogs, a cairn stone
Beside a waterfall’s spooling locks
Where thoughts swirl in a pool,
Froth, and only downstream still.

Tell them, tell all the kilted boors
When their universal chores are done
And the last absconders have gone
That I rejected it all.

Letters

My singular
Vital sign
For I am alive
Is poetry;
Modes and codes
And odysseys;
Odes pulsing
Through my
Malodorous veins
I did not arraign,
And perpetrating
Nevertheless
My entire body,
Despite the crime,
Despite the trial,
Aortic verbal canals;
I see myself on a gallow,
Letters drip from
My incontestable teeth
Through to a rubric,
Through to this
Indestructible
Woodland stream.

For that, in my dreams,
To all intents and purposes,
Is how the robin dyed
His breast in reds,
And how nemesis
Accounted, yes,
For a very baffled hubris.