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Poems by Jeffrey Side
Poems
written between 1990 and 2011
GOLDENROD
I watched you gather goldenrod in the fields.
I watched you swimming in the forest.
And I watched you keeping your hands
upon your knees.
You breathe like a scientist. And your breath
becomes the count of dreams. You smell
as sweet as the second-hand books you
throw away.
And the caverns in the earth are not singing.
And I cannot walk around the laboratory.
And I cannot rest my fingers.
And I cannot stay in when the sun is out.
I used to think you were a gift to the
experimenters. I used to think you were a gift
to the men fighting for their home.
Or the men who cry on the heaths and moors.
Or the men who fall in the underground.
Or the men who wait for us when the clock stops.
I watched you gather goldenrod in the fields.
The sun was escaping from your hair
and your feet were deep in the wet grass.
And your arms were filled with goldenrod.
SHE LEFT WITHOUT DELAY
I mark the time when I fly high.
I'll be landing very soon.
I cannot relocate my genes.
I cannot fix the balloon.
When suspicion is in your heart
the innocent are hurt too.
My ambitions are paved with
thoughts of a nature aimed at you.
I'll take you off that man one day.
I'll take you at your word.
I'll take you very far away
to somewhere you preferred.
I need you in this room dead soon.
I need you in the air.
I need you on the moon in June.
I need you everywhere.
I knew someone who looked like you.
She haunts me to this day.
She was a screamer too.
She left without delay.
JULIET
Wearing the Earth
like a robe,
I flew across the world
today.
I could see
the buried memories
hidden
in the trees,
and I could find
no one
to hurt
the two of us outside of
you and me.
I knew you when
you were nothing.
And then
I knew you when you were
something.
And then I met you
as you were
passed
from friend to friend.
Each one leaving you
alone
to weep in the
desert.
You had that look
in your eyes
that said tonight was
the day.
And I wish you had known me
when the sun was bright.
GREENHEYS ROAD
The vessels of love crowd in.
Their traumas hidden
among the reeds.
No love is lost or given to them
as they clutter the minds
of thieves.
Strong, sober and drunk
I come to you.
My weakness revealed
in my glee.
And book-like I pray on
your need
to comfort — sometimes.
Now there is light.
And now there is dark.
And that is the way that you
can pay
the charity you give
to men like me.
B BLOCK
You keep your
services for them.
You keep
the church they know.
And they make
donations regularly
with
one hand on your head.
They lean you
down towards
the cup.
You sip the overflow.
You lick your lips
and move your fingers
far apart.
You have no town
inside you
now.
You have no
travellers there.
Did you send them
home again?
Or did they leave for
better fare?
I was the one who
landed upon
your
lessened wing.
You had me
and then you had
your king.
I came to you a
broken ring. I danced
inside
your mouth.
I gave you all my
money
before you let me
in.
I couldn’t be a
saviour now. I couldn’t
be a queen.
I keep looking around
for things
I haven’t seen.
I seldom wandered in
your night.
I seldom took
the fall.
Now deep inside
I know
there’s no
one else to call.
VOICES IN THE LIGHT
Sometimes voices
in the light
will call me back to
them.
Back out of this
place where
I have spoken
from.
And then I will turn
my
back on you,
and on
the storm-bled sea.
And even
on the sleeping faces
that will
never
wake for me.
I will find myself
expanded
out of limitations
plight.
And no
earthly cause
or battle
will keep
me in this fight.
And what will
seem like
nothingness to
those
that have remained,
to me will seem like
childhood
when in
the time of May.
SHE WAS AS TALL AS THE EIFFEL
On the journey back,
riding on a lonely track
beat-up.
My memories of you
are packed deep inside
a sack.
I never knew your mouth
or your soil. I never
knew your fingering.
Begging
lonely men you begged
me, and I gave you
something then.
I can't remember
which or what
or when.
Or if it was
something I once sent.
But is it time?
You left them
abruptly.
And is it true about
the merchant?
CAN’T TALK ANYMORE IN THE OLD WAY
On the days I'd go to visit.
I knew
she would be free.
In the mornings she'd do
the Sun Salute,
and in
the evenings
make peppermint tea.
I first caught sight of
her in the designer sea,
when she was captive in her
swim suit
and the water beckoned me.
On crowded nights she'd
calm me down
with all I expected and without
any sound.
And on days
like this, when the coast is clear,
I'd travel
up to see her there.
Then back at
dawn to my place, here,
by morning I would repair.
On days like this I'd visit her,
when her lover was
elsewhere.
And into the darkness I would slip,
until she ceased
to care.
WHEN YOU WERE TEMPERED WITH DELIGHT
When you were tempered
with delight
your virtues were taken
down and forests
that you passed through
were not finite.
When you were
tempered with delight
you kept the
saddest oceans,
you kept
the proudest streams.
And wild pens
would
not strain your sight.
When you were tempered
with delight
you carried sand
upon your necklace and
cream upon your
lips. And you
never made the journey
through the park.
When you were
tempered with delight
you were
consumed by bikers in the
light and
nurses in the dark.
And taut strings
pulled
on you forever.
When you were tempered
by delight
strong bars were
held around your
fortress
and strong men
could never kiss the
wound you
would always hide.
THE SEEDS WITHIN ME
The seeds within me
formed my shape
and sorrows
long before I knew them.
Like some inevitable
punishment I'm
blind to
they cause predictions
to be true
and disasters to be
just right.
They stopped me
climbing in the fields
and falling on the
slopes that
framed the lake.
They made me like a
fallen tree whose
rings can be counted
and whose memory
can be read.
BOOKS THAT SOOTHE THE DYING
The humming sounds
like the
primrose singing.
New across your gaze
whole pillars torment you
between journeys.
Everywhere longings
that occurred gradually
finally overflow you.
And intently felt irony
is like bread
to the sentence of
imagination.
Also, sitting appears
doubtful
even while the wakeful
man
goes straight in
the parlour.
SKETCHES OF THE SMALL TOWN
Over provided to the
small point. Stop or water.
The highest touches are by the
snowdrifts.
But towards the waters
all sides are to the sea.
Moist flight south,
and valleys, more
finally,
become lovelier.
World looking,
listening.
Gone, distant happiness.
WHEN THE AIR WAS STILL
We were together and she fell.
Her name I could never spell.
When morning came the trees then shaded
a sunlit spot in forest gladed.
I came upon a table polished.
God is love but who is nourished?
A single anchor hanging down.
A ritual without a sound.
The rivers of youth and death
are now awake where they once crept.
I tamed a serpent in my hand
and buried a woman in the sand.
Prester John has come again,
although he never left us then.
Animals now cough at night.
And clarity seems recondite.
The clouds made shadows on her chest
as she prepared for final rest.
I was born to forget my death.
I was born to count my breath.
A paper bag lived in the breeze
while my love died of a new disease.
I mourned her when the air was still,
and lay on her grave in the morning chill.
WHAT DO THE FRENCH QUOTE?
She loved to sit and listen
to me sing as she held me
against her rings while
the worm destroyed her.
The caves to the east can
be followed by the sun.
And she travelled there
among the strangers
from the sea.
Like the bubble-islands in
my bath she never stayed the
same. And when she
woke she saw no one.
She kept me warm with company.
And we would
whisper for hours about the
books she’d bought.
Then I would watch her
automatic hand land and turn
the pages of some thin volume
asking what the
French would quote.
She asked about the river,
and whether ’twas true
that glass never smashed there.
I said it was so when I left.
FOOLISHNESS ON A WINDY NIGHT
I would find a room and sit
looking at the back of my eyelids
for many hours.
But no blindness could be found there.
No corners could be turned.
And no chairs heard.
We went fleeing in the forest
between the trees that were dead
and the counted skeletons
that had turned red.
There was no one about to tell
us to go so we stayed
and smelt the smoke of wood-fire shade
and pre-Raphaelite heat.
The shade then began to get light
and I acted like a foolish man.
We married on a windy night when the
cathedral sign was still on.
ON HOT SUMMER NIGHTS
I declared my love to her
and she turned herself away.
But I will surely offer it
again to her someday.
She lived on her own
near to where I was born.
And though I never told her
to her I was sworn.
On hot summer nights
when trapped in my flat
I’d wander out to see her
wherever it was that she sat.
But she was with another
who went there for to hide.
And many distances he had travelled
to lay his baggage at her side.
IF I HIDE THE STARS AT NIGHT
O Joy, you’re really not this mad.
You’ve tasted everything I’ve ever had.
I would wander in your night
if you’d give me back my right
to make you see that you just play games
with yourself while you wait to claim the dust.
And you speak as though
you’ve got every detail sussed.
And reading all the books you sent to me,
I could never be this free.
If I’m gone were would your mind be?
O Joy, you know that you are wrong.
I don’t have to be the one that’s gone.
If I hide the stars at night
will you give up on your fight?
And we’ll pretend that we share this roof,
these walls, this table and that chair.
I could be someone else for you
if you really must compare.
And I’d see the old cathedral fly.
And the mountains passing by.
And your nose turned up towards the sky.
LIVINGSTON DRIVE
Oh my dearest darling
I have done you no wrong.
Like that time in the morning
I fell in love with you.
Your father was a good man.
He loved me like a son.
And now you are absent evermore.
What have you done to me
with your words that are now gone?
I loved you like a saviour
in this world you can’t forsake.
My lover of the starry eyes,
I loved you long ago.
And now you are absent evermore.
I only came upon your arms
when I called that afternoon.
And I saw a woman in the forest
who was calling out to you.
Her picture was like the one
you showed me hidden in your room.
And now you are absent evermore.
SOMETHING THAT WAS NOT FRAGMENTED
I contemplate a part of
your beauty that is
like having a new key, or
like holding a snake that
has had its venom emasculated.
The battle with that serpent is
almost over, and the
joys of the fruit will soon
be settled.
You are the designer of
my limitations. You are the
root of my fervour, and
I am caught in your days.
I spent too much time on
the reckoning and not
enough on the shoreline—or
so it was mentioned to me.
You knew the sea would
cure me, though, but not
for how long.
HARMONY FROM DAMAGES
I have heard a good deal most
difficult I would not presume to
dispute the thinking eye or why we
do not recall past lives.
Now the chief god of the Olympians
the moon and witness to genesis in
1980 a group met putting aside a
need to revive the dead.
O my God forgive these angels
seeking some sport in the sun.
Do not remember my madness
and the pain you know I must bleed.
My daughter went within a man
once the viceroy of Egypt. A man of
empty hands I warned about talking to
himself beneath his visions.
DARK DREAM ENVELOPES
You dispel invisible improbability
in the rain and
ignominious expectancy as we
seduce damp noses near
the uniform vortex shrieks
and your vessels entomb
impersonally undisciplined but sack
crash riders terrified define
perforated perfection sleeplessly all
over the sky overflows
deliberate enticement hypocritical concubine
looks drolly vestigial dreams
vibrant balmily undesirable degeneration
envelops unholy perfunctorily agnostics
upright condescension burns carelessly
plastic dolls immortally forceful
sharp craves foul peel
fall abruptly dangerously all
beneath the virgin coma
sighs be luminous the
lust dies blankly narcissistic
streets mark complete vowels
yet ensnare sticky witches
at the stoops dimly
body nourishes thinly boastful
chivalry capitulates dazzlingly travelled
wile the evil rider
defers dark weird and
quaking about the seaweed
reduces night scared unsafe
lost in broad radiance
an unreliable map for
whose sake the guest
makes his way and
misses his turning so
glittering on the mist
we condone mammoth rubies
before the god of
life comes again so
sensuous above the slime
we prod transparent delusions
the spirits way cool
the vision is going
strange and hot the
sea you eat desirous
eyes among the towers
beware the night is
good shadowed and hopeful
THE OTHER HALF OF HER
It was a beautiful evening
Neptune slingshots to another world
should seven in the womb
be made earthlings outside the
passage to carry down faint
signals and solar system answers
when I last visited the
contessa amid dust storm evidence
I had warned my wife
of lake basins and riverbed
landings earth creatures mixing hominids
I can make fate good
and bad don’t hold back
your light I saw you
walking through like they thought
I was mad explaining it
or something as we arrived
through the smoulder fifty percent
of that is mine when
she sat under the tree
what fancy stockings so much
studied and findings applied like
aspects of the entwined serpent
now I feel so sick
THERE COMES AN END TO EVERY GOOD DEED
On the hills
of summit visible
where the relentless
women hate all
aristocrats after
we’d spent some
time with them
after the marriage
an enormous expression
of personality
and the sense
he’d been around
after the split
she and my
son Jim
were around the
same age she
produced from under
her dress a
crest with
country roots or
something some of
the angels sided
with her qualities
and profits
shall encompass the
city and the
walls collapse a
most tragic lament
with jumping
as I walked
he really looked
bad to the
island or the
Red Sea
but the modern
man must dominate
then submit and
she remains undaunted
in France
I CAN’T MAKE YOU WRONG NO MORE
I can still recall her
nightmares and the sack
that she wore, when she
was then drinking and
we danced in Baltimore.
When I’m out with many
women, things are not
that clear. I never had it
like this before. Something
always keeps me here.
She came here for a
reason. I don’t care
what she said. I need to
see some people,
and bring it to a head
But I’ve got other
things you still need
to do. And I find
things so hard that I’ve
got to give it to you.
And out in the darkness
when there’s not
much to share, I still rouse
up new dissenters
lighter than the air.
THE NECESSITY TO ALWAYS LIVE IMMORTALLY
I’m going away I’ve
found life again I’m sick
of language everyone
has found history
and textbooks lying
around all kinds of people
on the ground while drunken
in the entry or fighting in
the war we always live
immortally you made that
plain and clear and even
though I’m thinking this side
of the sphere we never get
what we want until it’s
late in the year one day
you’re here one day you’re
there it all vanishes like music and
footprints on the shore that
wasn’t my intention when I came
in through the door your mask
shows nothing and your face
shows nothing more
VIVIENNE DID HAVE HER OWN
Stop trials
universe neat
the disenchanted
of clothes
notebook out
at an
always when
with look
replacing but
desperation with
him knows
heartened the
promised leave
term somewhere
Greek now
doctor’s sugar
of around
daughter air
driving loose
filmed permission
Acropolis identified
always but
and beautiful
most skinning
of barnacles
called causes
or conditions
time 70%
progesterone daily
the culprits
half eccentric
complicated sitting
like get
me want
the look
head eyes
of love
just mourns
each one
Honolulu baby
YOU COULD HEAR THEM CRUNCHING
Are we really so
up and down the
next I heard her
say how have these
things happened anyway I
need not hanker after
comfort but now feel
I must carry on
for some nebulous end
so I went out
tonight and life was
headed alone made nor
stringent aspects ruling our
days I’ll never know
anyone else who’s been
part of my life
she said perhaps he
hated maps or some
such aspect of dragging
out suitcases while screaming
without considering the public
I had the morning
free and cut my
moustache it’s better like
that pulling plaster by
the river listening about
visitors scraping more than
enough honest fundament history’s
hollow freedom yet immortal
forebears numbering the crest
I TRIED FOR A DAY OUT
Apparently, she kicked
in music night, able to
regard the server as an
approximation. But ordering
chronologically was never
my thing.
And as many times as
you have, there can be
no real step forward. It
is much more than you think,
because he calls her often,
sometimes.
I don’t know why he
does, though. He’s just
desperate for a flush in
Cuba. I think something could
have happened, though. I knew
his son.
Nobody left to regard
you. So I came back
upon the hog and found
pleasure in renegade streams
in this sector. Don’t expect any
favours.
So much time is wasted.
Quantity is everything, it
seems. Sometimes I’ve got
money, so I’ve no need to tout.
You may hear of her soon, in
Baltimore.
I COULDN’T SEE IT COMING
He wanted to be in Montana,
like he read
in that philosophy book.
But it was impossible
for him to get
away from his doldrums.
Time and again, his fate
was to remain
here, with a few pleasures.
I was happy in the fields,
not thinking
about the present.
Sometimes, I hear her
calling me,
after I begged her to stay.
I’M COUNTING ON YOUR LICKING
You have chosen wisely
the wrong man.
Don’t count your chickens
he hasn’t.
He has married before,
and controlled
his birth.
No need for him
to change his goals.
SUN IN MY HAIR
I've got too much
sugar in my milk, and
the cathedral is moving in
front of the clouds.
And Venus
is coming close to me
and telling me of the
mansions in heaven.
I would tell her
that when I've got the sun
in my hair
I don't need her to
come around.
Others have told me
of the squeals they have lost
to unworthy competition.
They are learning
that when it's time you
save
you can never be a
slave.
But even in the sea
you can be thirsty.
I WANTED TO BE A PLANT
I loved you so I fell.
I hurt my pride.
You tempered me
while I attempted to swing you.
You sat behind paper all day.
You weren’t paid much.
You looked at times uptight.
You had a small room—
big in places.
And your plants sucked in
the air you breathed
out.
I wanted to be a plant.
You helped every one,
yet you gave nothing to me.
If I could find a mad girl
like you in every
bar and corner,
I’d be lucky.
We both knew it
back in Kathmandu.
ON THIS FATEFUL DAY AND BARREN LAND
And on this fateful day
I sought some hours,
and escaped
among
certain friendly trees.
I saw a rose upon the land,
half buried in the sand,
and held it
all day,
in the breeze.
And I made some plans
for the Golden Lanka,
and wrote a note
to a woman
and thanked her.
And in some fallen moment,
and some unknown kind
of way, I managed
to pass by
this troubled day.
SNOW RANGES AND FAIR WOODS
Angers and failures:
my lads are not for reconciliation.
I alone drink accurately
on the uncertainty.
I drink for the occasion,
similarly impressed, to brakes, skies,
and ghosts.
Snow ranges and fair woods
have their stint.
Printed feasts of richness.
Thrushes that quote but do not sing.
Racing to the beginning where the
reed’s breath sums up heaven.
And yet the reed speaks of simplicity
while full motion reconciles earthly years.
Dread lurks in the forest.
Candle boys shine the rough men.
Safe are the spheres that are dried
like the shells
The old ships cry fleetingly
under the moonshine.
PLASTER PIECE
The sky-blue plaster piece
you chose because I touched it,
you will always keep.
You like to spend the days with me.
The Sunday I first took you
on plastic with red button lens
you turned out well.
The air was cold, but it was shining.
And the round crowned church
held you in its circle
and calmed you at my side.
You take photos in the light.
SOMETIMES IT CAN TAKE A YEAR TO BE TRUE
It was inconceivable
that the horizon
could be ablated
by the paving
stones of anxiety
foisted upon the
gravelled stairway and
ceramic triangles that
we passed against.
Charlotte was a woman
of strange complexion whose
ambiance was that of
a cat trapped in
a fire escape of
its own projected delusion.
I knew her
well that spring
and June and
on that Friday
morn in blessed
dawn she was
the best thing
that ever happened
to her and
I cannot recall
my problems at
that state other
than to say
we had a
great time there.
The autumn leaves fell
by the gate and
slipped through the mist.
Time has no meaning
to fruit. Nothing bothers
them so it seems.
I found a
woman too I
heard her say
stop dreaming you
lush we are
not in May
so have a
drink on me
if you believe
in nothing he
wrote can be
heard but fleeced.
If I could just
go back to that
autumn week and all
the tables and chairs
that shone so brightly
for her glorious madness
and upbeat tortured serenity.
I NEED YOUR HYGIENE
You believe what
you will. He
got no one
else to lie.
He had plans
I never knew,
while listening to
my sacrifice. The
dust has you
tight, and you
don’t question it
when it commands
you in the
night. I’m waiting
for some of
your time, and
losing what I
can’t find. You
took me over
your walls but
only had your
breathing to sell.
After Milton, he
became more treacherous,
and needed you
for reasons you
didn’t need him.
Now he’s got
a chicken farm
in Puerto Rico,
where he blows
a horn all
day. You have
your hygiene which
you carry well.
ROMAN SKY
Do you remember that walk?
That walk you called separation?
That walk you called independence?
That walk you called “being stronger”?
Did you really believe any of it?
Did you declare how you were
free and how
you had no machine to
control your day?
Did you try to prove
a point
while weeping into
your hands
in the desert?
And did you find someone to
make the sky like
Rome for you?
CUTTING UP THAT CROP
Nobody knows
what a nice
day it
is except me.
I came back
to see you
while
you were away.
You have
spoken well,
if that’s what you feel.
We’ll make no
more arrangements.
We carry on regardless,
anyway.
I didn’t learn
my lesson,
and you
didn’t learn the truth
SOMETIMES THINGS ARE HARD TO PUT DOWN
Be careful where you chew,
as they’re looking
for someone else
who never lets it sleep.
Turning gears and sticks,
she doesn’t know which
way to go.
Now I measure all my
leather, making sure it fits.
When I get the envelopes,
I’ll look out for the slits.
She is on the lawn,
looking up at the birds.
She can never be here,
if you are always there.
I measure her up with
my head,
and I give her rifle,
and I give her bait.
THE SAMENESS OF DAYS
You hold the peasants at bay.
You have your work cut out.
You should make enough, as
the winter is coming.
Your slivery tongue will get me down.
Same as it was yesterday.
I have diligently numbered the days
since I came west.
It was the only thing left to do,
while heading upriver.
Captain of my soul, now I know.
Good measuring has informed us.
The plains of the world were
where the gold of happiness was.
THERE WAS A FEELING OF SYMPATHY BETWEEN US
Winter again
drunk
to shed
ramble makes
deeds
sail well wash
action dies matted
of a
fist lens paint
swear foam
bursts the
goat
midnight dog
backs
up shaking years
radiation source
fingers
defence city loners
death crosses
mark network
down
trench statues
commingling with the
dead
hotel gate presidents
reserve shells
and trench statues
YOU KNOW ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE
Her coat spreads
power around
elegance of
compromise.
Second ridge
ghosters
take the city
and are grateful.
The no seen cars
speed town
borders vanish
fast control.
The weather
was the
first accident.
THERE ARE THOSE WHO REBEL AGAINST THE LIGHT
I’m alone and it’s spring.
If only you’d let me lie on you.
You’ve no dispensations or compensations.
You must let yourself go, that’s the only rule.
Who’s that woman over there?
I haven’t seen her before.
She’s up from the coast with her aunt.
She’s here for her health.
I found her in the morning when she was at her best.
I found it hard to walk away.
The hardness stayed with me all day.
I’ve got people on the streets.
You’re not wanted anymore.
There are reasons for me to suspect I’m mortal.
Raise me from the stranger’s grave.
I WON’T CHANGE FAWNGIRL FOR ANYTHING
On to Lincoln, Nebraska—
plumb in the middle of The Great Plains.
I wish I were back there again.
Tempests in the dark taunt
our exhibited drunken selves,
placing fallen yellow graves at our feet,
and waves stretching back liberty’s possession,
hand-cuffed under female felt and passion,
drift upon island animals and hidden
rebellions emerging.
There are many ways to lie when good
deeds and bad deeds follow you,
and you have everything you wanted.
Will you eventually be with me in that log cabin
in San Juan Valley, Colorado?
I wonder about a good deal in dreams and
dramas, half sick, half wounded, much around the
world, on sea and land, down among the first
arrivals while the worst was yet to come.
Another paradise lost,
but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
And I remember my old man, slaving away on
that lemon ranch in California, staring
across prairie land wandering
what the end would be.
Don’t worry Rachel,
I won’t change Fawngirl for anything.
TREES OF SORROW
The trees of sorrow
that hang over these graves,
mark the spot where you are hidden.
You flew away too soon.
And all the while I could not
see the larger picture.
Your hair used to breathe
like the autumn smoke.
And you let me keep the cherished
dreams that fed me.
All for the sake
of trying to satisfy the eternal yearning.
All for the sake
of feeling some warmth in the night.
All for the sake
of flying too close to the candle.
All for the sake
of swimming in the contagious sea.
Such futile joys
we strove for,
and which brought us both to grief—
me, in my glass-walled palace,
you on your barrier reef.
When the sensuous hand
of destruction tempts and beguiles you,
who is safe to touch?
Who is safe from the cuts that
are too small to see?
Someone always comes forward to
be the victim when
the temptation is too much.
And is it just me, or is there someone,
somewhere, always missing you?
GROVEL OF BABYLON
She did appease my oblivion
and anxious hose,
flailing with
tongue seductions
in the wreck of time.
Discarding chronicles
like sail foam,
data jobs,
or managerial endings,
she was a true love of mine.
But now it’s come to sunshine
regimens, profile
clouds, orphan windows and
nihilistic soundtracks.
All like mighty
wandering shadows,
unexpectedly impaired,
somewhere in the night.
I still got a thing about you.
VENUS INDIGNANT
The ejaculatory
life is
the salvation
meteor of
futility or
fidelity willingly
false more
by your
leave during
times of
cultural tautologies
other destinations
ready love
in the
breach always
ambivalent mystery
reality waiting
to be
defiled in
the uninterrupted
present wings
will be
effortless for
aliens needy
of platonic
mist or
evolutionary doubts
in music
pirate maidens
WHERE YOUR LOVE BELONGED
I’m sitting here thinking
of a time I could have been
love-friend to her
about life
Pretty girl facing me
from the corner of a room
forward stretching over it
my bridges burnt
She said never leave me
as if I ever could
that was just something
in her mind
There were good days
and there were bad days
but the sun shone brightly
and the sky was blue
PRECIOUS REQUESTS
It was a Sunday morning.
And all the bells were ringing.
I work my fingers to the bone for you.
I want to buy you something new.
You can’t have that many things,
even if I say so myself.
There’s plenty of time, and there’s work to do.
What you hear in the dark,
always repeat in the light.
There’s no gold or silver for your belt anymore.
I shall never forget these things.
Your mother knew about them.
Let your light shine on these special gifts here.
Don’t keep your treasures all that near.
You can’t take them with you too.
Your father knows you need them all.
Is there someone asleep in the doorway?
My legs won’t keep me up:
not in the house we stand in.
Your precious requests have not gone unnoticed.
THE CROSSING OF THE BRIDGE
Dimness is here
followed by regiments
recoiling from containment
armour in Europe
remembering fire-eaters
absorbing what was put down
with great trouble along the bridge
while the rain saturates everything
the enslaved more furiously
throughout fictions and incredulity.
I remember my friends on dry roads
and wagons coated in perfume
memories on the ferryboat
love that is the distance
and the eternal clock
democracy and earthquakes
and women for all the troubadours
shuddering hearts and brains
that heat this world
and rulers furnished by other arts
when I was alone in Charleston.
OUT IN THE WORLD
No one sees the darkest hiss of rain
or the authority of selfish tears
in the rattle of liquid night
like timber packets
Alone hot struggles of kitchen fire
that is her trade
driving her rampart
a woman unconsciously witnessed
with auburn hair low from time’s complexion
that nobody watched
The boatman passes like a gust
absently he comes scratching
cursing all the time
always afraid
strolling to him feels like plunging
Mud errands high hair unmoving
flat time downriver from uninterrupted
books I came not to take employment
for the room had not changed
Able herself supported
she walked with undercut pride
or perhaps with something better
Admit the truth
open the window
goodbye to houses and hello to farms
this is the way things are
out in the world
I SUPPOSE WE’LL WORK SOMETHING OUT
Nature charms you
outside the temple were things
will be understood though wrongly directed.
Unhappy idealists discover
doubts about principles or
otherwise confuse themselves.
Mansions bare the parched streets
where visitors gather by
statues with ironclad
stepping stone traps.
Accented people in the thin city
with frustrated friends
find destiny tumbles
in terror.
Deep in love like resentment
dragons and hyperbolic death
women remark that
men go out
on winter mornings habitually
balanced yet visible
in the way of the spent
room.
Gathering like the rest of society’s
house bought off with chairs
and wine congratulations
and with barbaric modesty
cultivated in vapours
my teachers come to me.
GOING HOME
“Looking in the mirror—
mirror
mirror
mirror
Tomorrow—bright light.
I will see God tonight.”
Thanks for running after that bus for me, Dad.
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