Monday, February 16, 2015

Can you


Can you navigate
The soul’s landscape
Is there a compass
For the heart

Can you map
The inner cosmos
Or measure
Love’s longitude

I’ve trekked through
Many soulful miles
My heart stamped with
Scores of border crossings

I have seen
Love’s volcanic passion
Cool and harden
To stony rage

I have watched
Desire's fecundity
Dribble into the
Desert of indifference

I have known
The solidity of love’s certainty
Crumble in the earthquake
Of hesitant ambivalence

A cartographer
I am not,
Love’s longitude and latitude
I cannot navigate

More the fool
I slip between,
Love’s callous disregard
For maps and laid out plans

And I wonder
As I stumble through
Love’s landscape
Did I get it wrong?



Friday, February 13, 2015

Once Again


Once again
It is the winter of my summer
No gentle autumnal sliding
Into grieving winter’s arms

Once again
It is the season of endurance
When energy’s flow is frozen
And memory chills the heart

Once again
A year has passed
Six years now
Since you left

Once again,
Would I stand
At Hades gates
And play you out

Would I bring you back,
Back into this time
To satisfy a father’s
Grieving heart?

Once again, I stand
I will not call you back
For I have learnt to endure
This freezing of my heart

Once again
Spring will come
Life will flow again, and
Bring me to you

I am your father
I was there at your beginning
I was there at your passing
You are my son….

Once again
I love you


Next week is the 6th year of my son’s passing.  You never get over grief; you learn to live with it, to befriend it, to make space for it in your life.  Each year it affects me in different ways.  This is to honour a young man, who waits for me on the other side

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Ashes spread


The light was bleached
Anaemic whiteness instead
Of golden hued
The image flickered
Then having been seen
Settled

I was here
Yet also there
Where seconds elongate
And elements are freer
To transgress the laws
Of our security

She who is not me
Yet still a part of me
Came to me, yet do not ask
Of her beauty or her form
She is she and that
Suffices me

Her epiphany was of her timing
And though I knew she sat next to me
I heard her more than saw her
I had a simple question
A question of one word
Why?

Why did I ask why?
I cannot remember
Was it a global why?
I do not know
It could have been a
Specific why

I know I asked why?
And she simply said
It is the ashes
Spread in a
Previous life
I woke

And I am none
The wiser why
Though her words
Still echo
In my mind
Karma in a dream?

Is my life
The ashes of
A previous life
Or is this life
A out growing of the
Ashes of a previous life

_____________________________________________________-


I have never tried to put a dream into poetic form before, yet I had a powerful dream the other night that has stayed with me and resonated throughout the day.  This poem is a feeble attempt to give that dream some justice

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Of course


Of course
I love you
She said
As her mouth
Closed round a
Walker’s shortbread

Was it to me?
She spoke
As she read of
Missionaries
While filling
Her mouth

Of course
I love you
I’m your mother
Taking another bite
I shouldn’t really
You know

Was she referring to me?
Or to the other
Walker’s shortbread
Her hand scrabbled
Towards, as a crab
Rushing to catch the tide

I should be grateful for
Love’s definition
Biology’s compulsion
Yet how could I compete
With missionaries and
Walker’s shortbread, so sweet

Of course, I accepted
Her lie, crumbs of love
Are better than none
And as for shortbread
I don’t eat it
Now

And as for love?
Well she never did
I was her inconvenience
The shameful reminder
Of her husbands
Lust

So forgive me
If I don’t believe
Of course I know
You know you love me
It’s sweet
Like mother’s shortbread



Friday, February 6, 2015

Blue Eyes


Surprised by blue eyes,
The awkward novelty of
Two strangers in a bar

Navigating compacted complexities
Reduced to a simple
Hormonal drive

The Horned god
Hoping for a
Resurrection

While ghosts of the past
Drift, absorbing our
Kisses before they meet

Our skin, a compression bandage
Applied over life’s wounds
For brief respite

Sons of our father’s fears
Still seeking salvation in
Elysium’s elusive acceptance

Here, now
In this anonymous bed
We undress the burden of our care

In the covertness
Of our nakedness,
We trace our histories

In the tenderness of touch
On skin, while unseen
Scars open as sea anemones

Only to close
With a sting

When we separate

Monday, February 2, 2015

Beauty

I stood
For a few seconds
Silently sipping
The beauty
Of the setting sun

Savouring its light
Golden toned, fading
Slipping with
Restful tranquility
Into the arms of night

Amber rouge
Brushed on cheeks
Of clouds,
Kissed with bright intensity
Dwindle into dusk

Seconds stilled,
Not slowed
Beauty’s fragility
Transformed with
Venus rising



Sunday, February 1, 2015

Prayer of the Hypocrite


Forgive me for intruding
I know I don’t believe
It’s more reaction
Than reflection
Habituation than belief

Yet still
I catch myself
Casting prayer
Into the cosmos
Hoping,

For what I’m not sure
Answered prayers?
Quaint relic of past beliefs
God knows they were
Few and far between

God and I 
Arrived long ago
At an understanding
He maintained his silence
And I my disbelief

Yet still
Now and then
I’ll twitter
I’ve accepted
He doesn’t tweet me back

Perhaps I am a hypocrite
Though labels often hide the truth
I think God knows the truth of that

Having often been 
Labelled God
__________________

I have often reflected over the past years on my hypocrisy.  I was brought up in the church and taught to pray from an early age, I became a minister of religion and preached on the importance of prayer.  Yet time, silence and my reality as a gay man rusted the bars of belief in a personal God until now I no longer believe.  My hypocrisy lies in the fact that though no longer believing I still find myself casting prayer into the universe, a reflexive habit from my days in the church?  This poem attempts to capture some of that feeling of hypocrisy.