Poem: Slow Dance

How many years can a slow dance last?

Well, as long as it takes
To take a long slow circle of the floor
Describing all the floor holds
And all that touches the edges of
The floor.

The slower the dance the harder it is
To see the steps,
The pattern we’re following,

So we don’t know where we’re going.
But somehow we know that we are dancing,

And so I’m glad to stay in this swaying
Close and distant movement
Because I want to find out where we’re going

And also because I love to dance.

14 September 2002

Poem: Conversion

I’ve heard rumours now
That when darkness falls
The fallen stay asleep,

And the implements
That supported me
No longer seem much use,

So I’ve analysed
All my alibis
To find the lies within.

I see shadows now
And I hunt alone;
I never feel quite safe.

But I’m glad to find
I can almost breathe:
I have a mouthful of time.

4 May 2006

Poem: Gambler

I will bet on all those horses with faith
If – as it will – it will
Bring your arms to mine.

Fate has a line laid out for us,
Whatever fate stands in for,

And you may be another you from the
You I expect you to be,

But I will keep on placing my money
Under the glass,
Across the counter;

I’ll try not to squint too hopefully
At the corner-mounted TV,

And since there is pleasure in the gamble,
I won’t mind too much
If your arms never pay out.

22 October 2002

Poem: New Muse

It’s like running along a tightrope,
Like having a threesome with despair and with hope.

It’s like crossing a busy intersection,
Ignoring the lights, lost in introspection.

It’s like an eternally burning short fuse,
Being a poet terrified of his muse.

It’s like a blessing, it’s like a curse,
It’s both the best thing and the worst.

It’s like true love, it’s like a crush;
The finest literature and sentimental mush:

Thank you for giving me such scope.

4 December 2007

Poem: Oblique

You gave me drugs,
You gave me wine,
You gave me a plate
Of microwaved chips.

We laid on your bed.
The sun scorched through the window.

You laid your favourite books
Out on the bed,
The books I had to read:

You explained why I had to read them.

I read them on the bus
On the way into work
And on the way back.

I loved them.

21 January 2008

Poem: Cello Song (For Andrew Mullarkey)

The breeze of leaves
In the wood of trees
And the bow across the textured strings:

The body of the cello
Through the body of the world
Changes my body –

The sound renews the DNA
And resonates
And resonates
In weightless gold across the sky.

The words of wood are open words,
Where the cello’s voice
Takes note of all and echoes on
Deep and deeper in the blood;

The blood that flows
In the veins of trees;
The blood that breathes in me.

7 June 2003

Poem: Methods Of Coping

Run to welcome this bleakness below hills.

Covet this staleness and kiss this blank rage.

Envelope yourself in staring at grey rain.

Celebrate the pocket knife of Monday nights.

Savour the bitterness of black wine.

Refute the memory of rose-silver lips.

Beat nails into the songs of hope.

Read hurt into the hours that heal.

Refuse the suggestion of a single perfect day.

Sleep well beneath the skeletal sheets.

21 April 2003