Poetry with Dean and Michael – the two priests

View

I am a dog or two
downward sniffing at the earth
picking up Pee Mails, and far to long
hunched over a computer

Another, though, comes out,
looks up, wet nose to wind and moon,
content not to know what happens next
going with the flow, at poetry on Saturday

(Another I am 5 elephants – ending 5 is not enough)
(I am not a rat
Ann Follows, the Cave bat)

Stuff

I wonder what my visitors think
to find, as they brush their teeth
in front of a window with no blind
only oaks to see,

On the ledge beside the soap
a forked hoof of a young camel
picked up years ago in the Sahara
dried and petrified now

Beside a sling of recycled tyre
attached to a fork of baobab wood
given by a child in Dogon land
east of Bamako

All rocked up here on a Suffolk ledge
Where strangers, as they brush their teeth
their eyes alight, perhaps on soap
Or sand escaped from a distant land
And comment on the lack of clean.

(Air bnb guests are in my home this weekend, and they will give a review of how they find the place they have contracted to rent)
(A fabulous long meander from x, planking in the living room, doing all these extraneous things, and no one saying, how well she looked, and how will she ever know until she comes to dieing)

I didn’t come here to stand in line
waiting patiently for someone else
to completely re-do
what I had done.

Nor did I come here to listen to you
telling me of someone else’s life
how wrong they were and you right
in all the detail of an embroidery sample.
A person I will never meet.
Tell me, rather, how you are.

Morning things

For a bird that cannot fly
the ascent to the window ledge
to peck on the glass
to get attention
to remind me
to feed.

Armed with extending soft brush
I dust away all the multi-story, layered,
nets of homes created over winter months
for others who are fearful of
arachnids.

Fiat Lux

Let there by rain, more rain to rivers
through homes, cascading chaos
through lives. Sewage mixing with
plastic bath ducks. Frozen food
in basement chests once lovingly prepared
floating in floppy bags. Tax returns, poems
ink and paper dissolving.

Let there be mud, mud slides down banks
Tree roots loosened, uprooted
wind rattling off dead branches

Fiat Lux, let there be light
to see it all, in all its glory
Nature reminding us it is still here, despite
our damns, bricks, mortar, hedges
drama and insurance.

(Let there by changes of plans, Roger who is still alive)
Let there by light under the sheet so we can read Lady Chatterly’s lover
with a dust jacket of Brere Rabbit)

It was a day of rain, after 3 recent storms which bought devistation to western areas such as Ironbridge.

Atiyah	06 December 2019	08 – 09 December 2019
Brendan	11 January 2020	13 – 14  January 2020
Ciara	05 February 2020	08 – 09 February 2020
Dennis	11 February 2020	15 – 16 February 2020
Jorge	27 February 2020 (Named by AEMet)