TECHNICALLY ABSENT
It happens
in time it takes to blink
or purge an itch
days absence calls
you to woolgather
wander parallel worlds
while pigeons fuss-flap
play musical chairs on roof ridges
bees lick flower lips
air knits thick with pollen
and puttanesca sunsets
slip linguine-thin
down throat of horizon.
It happens –
jolted from a dream
you never had
let back through a curtain
by that subtle knife
in the Pullman novel
the moment it dawns –
elsewhere is a place
your mind has been
and all you care to know
is how
BLUE NOTES
after John McCullough’s ‘The Colour’
Post air mail letters
on Carpaccio unlined sky
bowl aquamarine marbles
over albino Ibiza sand
dive for salt sachet ink
welled in old school crisps
expose broken-vein Stilton
and tangoed Blacksticks
paint jazz in improv shades
like Miles and Coltrane
rock downtown Memphis
in Elvis’s suede shoes
be sound and vision
gifts in Bowie’s room
THE SUMMER IN QUESTION
arrives early in ’76, stays later than a pub drunk,
bakes us in brick kilns, windows no-one dare
close; Don’t Go Breaking My Heart on radios
all day, stray dogs bark in revolt.
Sundays unrattled by mowers as gardens gasp
for breath, now watering lawns or plants
comes at risk of arrest; alarm of drought
pressed in reservoir and lake.
Bare arms sardine onto buses bound for park,
pool and beach; heat too intimate, clothes
clinging like sticking plaster to lobster flesh
basted in sun factor 4 or 6.
Ears always pricked for ice-cream vans,
eons before afternoons inhale barbeque smoke.
Balmy nights we map stars, sheetless waits
for sleep in sauna beds, no whisper
of breeze, owl soundtrack plays in trees,
warm-up to birdsong jukebox. Summer
we love and hate at the same time –
tells everything you need to know.
This is wonderful stuff Paul.
Every line a joy …
Thank you
Thank you Jonathan for this kind comment.
These are great, Paul. Lovely to read.
Moira, thank you, much appreciated.