performance

performance   

 

this performance of self was slipping away

a loose scarf falling from her shoulders

her hands flapping and fearful   useless

and in these final scenes

when everything   everything   was sliding away

she had never been closer to what it meant to be

to what it meant to be her   not to be her 

the lights about to go out   the curtain to fall

and the audience awed by the performance

the standing ovation   the rain    the flowers

 

in the carpark a slight impatience

platitudes   performance

the need for something solid   something graspable

 

the stage the theatre in darkness   

the scarf on the floor left behind  

a darker shadow   irretrievable 

arrhythmia

 

arrhythmia 

 

he listens

the piano in a Górecki song

the understated sympathy

those passages where a note

at a time

is quietly quoted

the dripping tap of his humanity

in a symphony of things ineffable being uttered

 

he exists mostly in the spaces

between the strikes of the key

waiting   with a kind of insistence

on the beating of his heart

that up or down on the staves of a ladder

unsure whether he is the piano or the pianist

link: Gorecki, Sorrowful Songs

revenant

 

revenant 

 

Imago

slipping from the raft of a dream-life

clutching at water   struggling to find purchase

waking to a sound

a pulsing whirring sound somehow

a mix of the tick and sweep of a second hand

the squashed wind roar of a wind turbine’s blade

sensing the whoosh of it’s shadow

swoop across his eyelids

feeling time sluggish in his veins

the engine of his heart starting to turn over

all in his head   all in the mind

a resurrection

    

the stopped clock that never stops

but does so   not today

 

opens his eyes on the world again

it pours into him   a flood

filling him with light with weight

suddenly   surprisingly   clumsily   buoyant

he sees

his clothes undressed upon a chair by the bed

a skin to be worn    a skin to be shed

Pepper's ghost

 Pepper’s ghost (ATU 327A/DSM-IV)  

Once upon a time …

there’s a girl she’s lost a shoe she’s lost in a forest she’s a pocketful of breadcrumbs there’s a body in the oven uncooked raw she’s been to a ball dancing into the club she’s letting her hair down she’s tying it up it’s a ladder it’s a noose highly strung high and dry fast and loose she’s a beast to be kissed she’s a bargain being struck a clock striking midnight a deal not to be missed made for a match she’ll light them one by one she’s a promise of gold of blood on the sheets she’s in a passage of rites she’s a stepping stone a chicken bone a finger to be pricked an apple to be picked a bite to be taken a bag full of beans forsaken a tower to be climbed a property to be claimed she’s a name to be named  constructed deconstructed postmodernised and analysed  she’s a life to be lived in but the shoe that she’s found herself in doesn’t fit it           

mirror mirror on the wall where they all live happily ever after    after all

no longer there

 

no longer there 

 

it’s such a long journey to the other end of the sofa

he’d have to put his book down and crawl out of his bunker of cushions

climb over the TV and other defences

he’d have to pull himself out of this car crash

and swim to the surface

 

it’s such a long journey to the other end of the sofa

and there’s so much baggage clumsy and heavy

the terrain thick with roots and traps

and the map is worn thin and folded so

so that it falls apart in his fingers

 

it’s such a long journey to the other end of the sofa

that language tires stumbles into sleep

and he can’t read the invitation can’t even get it out of the envelope

of his pocket of air so thin here so steep the climb 

here beneath the weight of stars he tries to breathe

 

it’s such a long journey to the other end of the sofa

there are so many stations so much distance to cross

the compartment overheated overcrowded

the window busy reflecting inside and out

and arrival was never the point of his destination 

 

and maybe you are no longer there

immortality

immortality 

 

not forever

but long enough perhaps

that when she’s in her seventies

divorced or abandoned by death

and her kids have gone off

to live in those other lives

they too found by the roadside

a cheque will come

so there will be wood for the fire

a bottle of inexpensive sanguine Sauvignon

uncorked   a steak sizzling in the pan

a few cracked peppercorns a little cream

she’ll take a book down from a shelf

open it to this page

she’ll take a knife   and fork

and there’ll be blood in the sauce

she’ll raise the glass   and I’ll be there

just me and her       cheers

pixel

 

pixel

each morning

when the sky is opened

on that day’s blinding sun

on that night’s translucent moon  

a zillion stars hidden in daylight

    a one and all those noughts

are still shining in the closed cold silent dark

 

find one   choose one   just one

and nail it to your heart