The Evening’s

come to rest

in this room

my glass in its

pool of water

under dim red light

has golden whisky

silent like the walls

the pictures come alive

the side-table

and the speakers

high in the corners

cough through static

some dead singer will croon

of love

of loss

and then the bar will bristle

the conversations start to flow

forks and spoons

clatter on plates

when a glass would

fall to the floor

from someone’s hand

who couldn’t hold it anymore

and soon we’ll find the swimming ceiling

the spinning sky of misery chasing happiness

past the pale white moon

and the stone cold stars

that will finally claim us all.

 

The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).

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Cloud And Sky

and below that blue

and then the pale yellow sunlight

then red like fire

like a furnace

and finally the world

this is my morning

how the day is so silent

like someone sleeping

and I look and wait

for it to wake

some giant creature

of air

is it desire

that burns and cools

is it all in my mind

I wonder

and then

I think of death

closest of companions

and then the world slowly wakes

the windows open

and I smile.

Meeting

Calling them strange occurrences

would be wrong, yet they seem like that.

As though there was a world

beyond the question-mark

you had to slip into and like.

Here, there is a cauldron of constant

possibilities and impossibilities.

Here, the game plays out,

which will outplay you.

Let us just be grateful that

you and I have met this evening.

In this rain, in this wild horn

of traffic, we stand under

our umbrellas. Let us be grateful

that we have met.

 

The above poem first appeared in Nthposition, and is part of my first book Reeling (2012).