Creativity -
there’s enough destruction.
Poetry published in:
•Obsessed with Pipework (Flarestack)
•LinkWay Magazine
Most recent public reading of my work: in subText as part of the J Paul Getty Trust ‘Getty Underground’, August 2008.
Art as a distillation of - not a mirror to, nor commentary on - life.
Working on…
September Sun
grins out of doors,
pins out-of-breath children
(ruining their hiding palaces)
against fervid, pasteline hop field's hedges;
unpicks harvest tapestries:
calls away their keepers;
smothers cider-woefully all-drinkers;
they can neither hope for cool to come, nor
lament bright, heat, now wan.
September haze
promises to crawl from behind,
encase; silence late afternoons
in tender draught drops poised
perfectly between damp and dry.
Yet none is drawn to the coppice.
September must
induces tears: arid, dust
drawn from depth below memory.
We know it approaches: year to year,
Here. Hear
September sounds
retreat; tractors, owls, hired workers
wear out tracks home. The tapestry
now grown a layer by the sower, Doso's daughter,
who scans right, left; inweaves
a hearty Gestalt: one year
with the ends of her flax -
moving its rough and steady skein, not
changing it. As the lane
from the hop field's edge
leads the reapers (back)
but does not change them.
September days
nourish those who remember Autumn
and long for summer. All that they baked
in the terra cotta yard by the stable
under the copse firs
has crumbled back into ingredients
to emerge again. Grain gaining.
Either only a matter of time… before it’s all lost to global capital, whose stench has lasted less than 2% of recorded human history. The poorest majority, as always, suffering first - unable yet to match the global élites’ violence, greed and power.
Or the principles of, belief in, and respect for our oneness will drive the return of freedoms perfectly possible since when priests and princes made themselves indispensable in the early City States.
If you’re not part of…
… in many different ways.
Folding Passion and Precision together.
