I'm just putting some poems together for my trip to the Beehive tonight....
....
friend's friend
whenever we met
she told me how I disliked her
and in what measure
and the reasons
and I laughed
her room was draped with peacock scarves
of purple print and pink bohemian hue
burnt candle and saffron and wine
even in the stink of summer
when children in buggies were gassed by buses
the air striking in the surrey hills
her room had coolness
our disagreement lay
- or so I am told -
in an off-hand remark while drunk
for which no apology was asked
and full insult taken
she never drank tea - only earl grey or lapsang -
but I drank it with milk and no lemon
during one lecture about the perils of meat
I pointed out I was a vegetarian
she knew me better than myself
told me my opinions
defined my tastes and whims
laughed at my clothes
and my carefree contempt
and then one day we air-kissed
without goodbye
....
entropy
he said he was waiting for death
eyes watchful over the sea
and on his knee - neatly wrapped -
a triangle wax-papered parcel
tied with string
winching at the badly kept beer
my eye is caught by a picture
of the house now hanging -
captured then - with a paddock
between it and the cliff
on the wall - more pictures -
nostalgic for a time - when people lived here
when the pub had trade in winter
and the school was more vibrant
than the tennis club
after lunch I take some time
to walk back to that bench again
- he's still there waiting - waiting -
for the slow erosion to take him
like the open slab of house exposed
...
seep
in the gap between the tarmac
a pink opium poppy
- tattered - blooms
and she walks with splayed feet
- in pastel clothes - half dyed -
washed up from the toes
past the turned in knees
to the polka-dot double pram'd shoulders
- gurgling lullabies in plodding tune
they say she had to choose a number
- one two three -
and whichever she picked
would not flower
....
tanning
now is the fallow seeding time
of grasses bending
children with counted ribs
dash random as swifts
their fun frantic as butterfly wings
foxglove proud they stand
laughter punctuates
like the yellow primrose
rising through the tawning grass
...
anarchist
the wild cotton dots the brush
as if a flock of sheep was chased
by giant bouldered feet in hunger
which rose in wanton violence
beneath the flash of thunder
and what sheep remain are thin in the haunch
they graze with waggled ear
lazy roll a bulge'd eye
at the backpacked tramp of feet
on rain softened tussocky grass
as I crest them out of view
I hear the conversation
the wind and stillness have lulled
so the words come in startled fresh
like a joke to the humourless
they are discussing sandwiches
and more precisely mayonnaise
and more succinctly tuna in brine or oil
and if the combination
suits white or brown
and in the midst of discussion
a light sun clearing breeze
lifts cellophane from a knee
carries it flapping and folding
until unsure it drops three feet from the path
they apologise as I hand it back
I smile
and secretly drop the lint
from the triangle of my pocket
as I walk on
....
francis harvey
this stone
more dense than diamond
smooth as a bird's egg
cold in my palm
like a forearmed sheet beneath the pillow in summer
this stone
I hold indecisive
between the dismissive toss for the common-place
and the pocket
that stone whet
knew that I would hear the call of birds
and taste the butter
and laugh at the off-hand description
of apple orchards and vetch
of relatives proud in country manner
whom strut like thrushes bullying a sparrow
coated in russian bearskin - three-quarter length -
to accent the sweet perfume
of a mother's beauty - to a child
and the glottal stopped
faux pas of judging others by their vowels
for the words that were not said
and the bridges burned before crossing
for the sake of failure
knows that thread from which we hung
- the threads of half-drowned hair dragged from a river
that later would get merry on cider
- or perry - or gin - or love -
or the chancing sunlight on a handsome face
to form the swan's heart of desire
more fabled and more real - than us
...
peace:)
The Blue Book
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