Clouds roll beneath the stars
and leave us blind.
Fire makes.
Barren rock, pitiless rain
Fire makes.
In the dark I sign silhouette,
sing those who will yet
singe an alphabet.
Fire makes.
Defines the shadow,
defines the night.
Fire makes.
What breaks dark,
dares create light.
Fire makes,
Fire breaks.
Tutored by wind, rock, lake, sky, stars,
still questioning as we peer at first spark;
the blaze of the casting of the firmament,
the revelation that we can steal fire.
It is the baby, Jarret, trying to fall asleep
switching and rolling from position
to position, pinching and tweaking both
my flesh and his in a delirium of doubt,
belonging, difference. It eats.
He wrestles
with the sleep that is stealing into him,
he sees it and fears it, a serpent at night,
gleaming, as real as foreclosure,
as dreadful as death. He curses
and yowls in a language between
himself and waking, and I lie there
pretending to be asleep.
He hurls
at me, his covers, his bed, his fate; I keep
hoping he will just fall asleep.
When he does
it is a breaching of giant walls, castles fall
into the sea; he is a whale split with axes
beneath Arctic skies, the village rejoicing
they are saved from starvation.
I am drawn irresistibly with him—
photons of play drifting into gravity.
The small, weak force will always
subdue the strong and powerful urge
to procreate. My wife waits and falls
asleep.
Posted from my Book Monochromatics—an alphabetically ordered series of pathetic fallacies (definitely not a dictionary!) on my blog 12 Books in a Year.
electricity
I am talking to you
from the future
from a thousand miles away
electricity
on the phone
say what you like
electricity
in the air you see me
a million tiny dots
electricity
lightbulb shining through a window
thoughts in your head
electricity
shout that name
electricity
amplify it
electricity
make a copy
electricity
any number of ways
electricity
electricity
electronics
an English garden
rose bushes, brick wall
a stone couch
an herb garden
the sun’s rays
bright and warm
sea salt
makes the sky shine
flower’s breath
a trumpet call
of perfume, bees
hum in the air
factory
birth of the locomotive
more powerful than
the dream of superman
metronome, measurement,
scale, our sight is chromed
exhaust systems, thank you
for your present, this is
the skin of our new era
fashion
animals always walk
like they’re wearing high heels
fire
each time is like the other
borders alter, change
all things lead to this point
the future is fire
Peterborough Poets 