poems or something

 

I'm dead and God meets me at the end of the tunnel of light.
She looks like the lady who served up school dinners when I was kid.  { with thanks - "Time Bandits" }
 

God  :   "Well Dave, how was it for you?"
Dave  :  "Well, God, I liked the love bit but didn't like the suffering bit. Was that really necessary?"
God  :    "Yes"
Dave  :  " Just yes? Isn't there some big cosmic reason for the suffering stuff?"
God  :    "I guess so. Let me see . . . it's been along time . . . . Oh yes, something to do with free will."
Dave  :  " Ok, I have been dying to ask you something, if you'll excuse the pun. If you made me, who made you?"
God  :    "You did"
Dave  :  "I knew you were going to say that".


                                                                                                           
                                                                                                    *

2 Eyes

 

my love has two eyes

a left eye of sadness

and a right eye of knowing 

she's asleep now

and I am thinking.

then I am not thinking

as both pass like clouds before the moon

 

*

 

                                    I dreamed that woman

                                    on the hill

                                    gave me a sacred stone

                                    and everything

                                    became clear.

 

                                    Then I knew

                                    I was dreaming.

 

*

 

piers end, nights end

the moonlit waves

offer no comfort.

let's look anyway

 

*

 

                        tiny wings inappropriately

                        flowered on my face

                        vain eruptions

                        of carefully hidden choices.

                        I watch them grow

                        mocking dreams of flight.

 

 

*

 

under a huge elm

taking me by surprise

a sigh escapes.

 

*

 

                              Dormas Chilling Bhutia

                              Chilling Lahmu Bhutia

                              Dawa Lahmu Bhutia

                              Dorma Sherpa

                              four beautiful visitors

                              laughing

                              as Jane cuts my hair

 

*

 

  I didn't feel lonely

  till my friends

  started talking to me.

 

*

 

            why is he grinning at me?

            he's been staring at me for hours

            days

            what are you looking at?

            What’s so funny?

            Eh?

            Does he know something?

            What does he know?

            I’m angry now,

            see !  you’ve made me very angry

            going to smash you now

            even though you’re the

            last mirror in this house.

 

*

 

            sometimes the sky

            sometimes the sky

            sometimes the sky

            is just too big

*

 

            I feel that

            I must have been

            almost

            everywhere

 

 

*

                                    is it a coincidence?

                                    in my dreams

                                    I always face the Hospital

                                    with my back to the Art School

                                                                                                            *

 

between appointments, I find myself sat in a park

drinking tea, from a chipped white cup

kids are playing in the sunlight and litter

something wells up and out

I scribble it down on the paper napkin . . . . . . . . .

“if we let the true temporary nature of existence

 deep, deep into our bones, we can never

 unconsciously enjoy anything, ever again.

 our pleasures become redolent of a poignancy that

 changes the colour of our smile”

the gulls wheel about in the breeze snatching at food-scraps

and couldn’t care less.

 

 

*

 

 

The Lacewing’s Litany

·        insect order Neuroptera, or net-winged insects, includes the lacewings, mantidflies, antlions, and their relatives (the group that was once known as the Planipennia)     .  . . . . . . Planipennia: applied to Neuroptera in which the wings are large and laid flat on the body when at rest . . . . .

From behind your eyes, looking out

did you catch yourself laughing,

and then feel surprised?

I don’t know, and cannot guess

your mood or longing

but yes,

I’m curious

 nonetheless

 

In a laden cherry orchard

I stroll again with eyes cast downwards

searching searching for one ruby . . . . .

foolish,  I know, and maybe crazy.

I pause my ruby hunting

distracted by the Lacewing’s  flutter

where she goes flying I go flapping

down the orchard’s rows and rows and rows

 

My own deliberations vanish

As she dances forming patterns

Light left flowing on beneath

the cherry-heavy trees.

so I stumble in direction

slowly loosing point and passion.

 

The Lacewing hovers, flutters, wavers

Seems to shine with iridescence

While bright red cherries fall like rain

upon the grass. 

I didn’t grew into a hero after all,

or a scholar or a thief.

At long days end I found myself

Turning into my Dad

Doris smiles

not just temporary but fleeting

fluttering gone like the lacewing

empty hospital corridors and long deserted apartments

life traces

dust in the sunlight

 

I am concerned about her smile and where it goes

where does it go? 

And all the treasures of love manifesting . . . . .

On Dale Street, in the spring of 1927, my Mum is shocked to see her Mum lift her handbag, to hide her face.  This is the first time my Gran is out walking with her new fiancé.  My Mum hates him for taking the place of her dear dead Dad.

Now she sees her Mum, whom she loves more than any other person, hide from her. 

This complexity is added to her smile, joining the thousands and thousands of nuances that live there. 

If I can make my Mum smile, I think I have achieved something, to see the nuances come out to play one more time, not just temporary but fleeting fluttering

going, going, gone like the lacewing

·        Refract

verb : (of water, air, or glass) make a ray of light change direction when it enters at an angle.   —origin : Latin refringere  = ‘break up’.

                          

I dreamed that woman

on the hill

gave me a sacred stone

and everything

became clear.

           Then I knew

I was dreaming.

Light on the water

Light in the water

Bending, undulating

Can you hear that?

The sounds of refraction.

There’s a silent meaning, isn’t there?

Latent in the patterns

Bending, undulating

Requiring us to stay very very very

Still

Then

Then

You hear it

The Silence

Yes,  the Silence

And it is alive.

You can hear it when your wings are at rest

 

my Mum, Doris, aged 10 and 91