Is there any harm in dreaming

Is there any harm in dreaming
Of a happy child at play
To stand and stare, full of care
In mind but feet of clay?

Is there any harm in dreaming
If it's sitting still that kills
To wake and stretch and bend
And eat until you're filled?

Can we dream the same dream
And if we do
Is it only scenes and seeming
Or can we make the dream come true

Are there boundaries of the mind
Are our feet poured clay
What effect of DMT and chemicals of different kinds
It would be wrong of me to say.

Electrons, electromagnetic radiation
The neutrons from my bones, this hex
All aflame in ideation
I might not facetime, just email or text.

This is not a letter

 Sorry I have not written

I have not been busy or distracted

Have not had children running under my feet
Or court, It is just
I have not yet found silver
In my tongue
To bring the gifts I must
Not yet prospected some gold seam
Mined my heart for a promise or dream
To fresh bejewel your brow 
With crafted new crowns
Or woven a strong sail of truth
Fitted with veracity for a fresh
Voyage of proof
I have only these few dry words
Signed with a tear of two
I miss you

Dr.Quack and Mr.Higgs

 He really was a most curious patient. More than any other in my experience his presence completely permeated the room. Collapsed the moment he entered. Only, not quite like any other collapse I’d ever witnessed, he seemed to grow into something completely different.

“Ah sir, do put yourself back in the seat, you’re shaking”

“Frequently”

“And what seems to be the problem Sir?”

“The problem”

“Yes sir the problem. You’re shaking sir”

“Is that the problem”

“No sir, I mean, if that is the problem. Is that the problem?”

“Vibsing?”

“Vibsing? sir”

“Yes, to me its vibsing. Aren’t you vibsing sir?”

“Well, um, can’t say I am. I’m er, a professional sir, very little time to er”

“Don’t you vibes with everyone? Everyone that comes in, just get down an”

“Sir you’ve collapsed again, your collapsing”

“It’s just how I am.”

“You do that most elegantly I have to say sir”

“Kind of you to say so”

“Is that the problem”

“Kindness?”
“No sir”

“Elegance?”
“no sir, the collapsing”
“It’s how I made my name as a sailor sir”
“oh you were a sailor”
“I was on a ship, it didn’t have a sail as such, It was my father’s ship. Named after my father too. I was quite important at one time.”
“Captain?”
“Where?”
“No, where you the captain? Vice-captain”
“Bosun”

“Ah bosun”

“Is that why you’re, sorry, I mean, we’re, is that why we’re here?”
“Pardon”
“The problem sir? Is it related to your time as a Bosun”
“I was never meant to be a bosun I was meant to be in a field.”
He had, in the chair become a very energetic knot.
“Well, can’t a bosun be a bosun and still be in a field? You don’t have to be on a ship. Oh sir, your, oh, your collapsing again.”

And with that he was altogether quite a different. 

“Mr. Higgs, can you send the Gibbon up on your way down”.

Should I tidy my desk No.36

Thick as two short Plancks

Give thanks

But if my maths was better

They'd be longer

Probably energy is frequency

And mass is energy and mass

Bends space time and has gravity

So harmonius frequency

Can bend too short planks.

Eyeing up birds

When I go out I eye up birds
In the slow billious sky

Like cerebral cortex

A flash, twist,

Monochrome anomalys 

Black capped gulls, in a squall
A pair, a gust,
A solitary seeker of storms

Beats wings in firm wind

The Corvids take turns on the chimney pots

A brace of magpies, a heavy crow

A parliament on the tiles, along the gutters 

The pigeons like frightened aerobatic fish

A swinging escher print in vain escape

Synchronised round poplar trees race

A frantic school or flock, flayed against the evening sky

A red kite hovers

Eyes tight to some verge

Scrap of grass on a side street

Not languid like thermal 

Sitting sentinels of Delhi's sky

But a fierce menacing grace

I think of the red fort and youth

Against a blue white sky.

The birds are bipeds

With an L-shaped larynx

Like us. All they lack is

Thumbs and grammar

All we lack is warm feathers and wings.

Sheep

If it was just a nudge I would not begrudge one bit But if it shoves, caustic caterwauls and whips If it is a shilling for a life on ships There is only pain in the achievement It may be that I don't believe yet Or it maybe like enclosure That I sit a sheep on a high hilltop And remember the soft human hands They so wish that I forgot. And if this mirror were to crack Would the replica be more exact Would rafters make a better roof If riven. Would it be better home for ravens This freedom of the citadel Behind high walls, free from Falling in love, with no shame And no society to judge.

When the dam broke

So when the dam broke
I watched from high on the mountainside
How soft water plumed like smoke
Lifted, spun and tossed
Pharaonic blocks with ease
Smashing the tall thick gates
To shards, gravel that scoured
Sedge from the valleyside,
Sent trees wheeling in the torrent
Waves clambering on waves, shaking
Where once was the pent
Controlled stillness, manicured
Lawns and matchbox houses
Crescendoed a torrent, spewing
From the cleft gash, an explosion
Of nature, untameable till its own
Stillness returned and birdsong
I, shaken watched, from the mountainside
The flat, free river below.

Cocoa for breakfast

Cocoa for breakfast
Promotes neural plasticity
Then fast
Then faster, but
More haste, less speed
That's my advice
Funny how Einstein erred
And God plays dice.

The complex dance
The weather
Yes my friends
We are all in this together
I gather

Small flecks of gold
Like a placer mine panner.

If we think 
Therefore we are
Uncork the stoppered bottle
Lift the bell jar.

For which grain of sand
Will end up on top?
There's no way of telling
No matter
What calculator you've got.

This was spring

When
Escape became a watermarked flight
Beyond the speed of winged feet
When all I felt from your breath was fright
I became. The bridge of my moat frozen
So breaches to my isolation, inevitably
Felt like cold ghosts, such a stranger
To intimacy and company unknown.
I need new horoscopes.
This was spring
Some great revenge, against other wrongs
My mind cast through catalogues 

Seeking traditional songs. Not for nostalgia
But guides in my hideaway, gurus
To tell me, when water has eroded all
Memories, what traditions were.
This was spring.

Watching the clock

Catching the drops on a clock hand

Is hard
My knuckles failing, I feel
Pulling the belt buckle tight
Helps my gut
But that space is black. 
The space where the sheets creased
Scent. Is all spent, a finger trace, 
Reminiscence, I wish this
Was making love
Not war, not hornets sent in the post
The closeness of soft skin
Ends, that first crease begins
The topographics, in relief
Become a map of kingdoms lost
Of things I trust.
The second hand does not
Hold the round salt drip
The long hand, minutes,
Are not a spoon, hold no moon
Apple, nor star
The short hand drips errors
Airbrushes maps, as creases slip.
Its hard catching tear drops
On an old wrist watch. 

Dr. Quack and that thing

Quack, quack

“Comfortable chair, yes, please, do make yourself comfortable.  Yes, the upholstery, we had it bespoke, they were antique, 19^th I think, anyway, what is it I can do for you?”

Indisputably it was a curious animal that strolled in.

“do you have an appointment”
“um, last Tuesday, I think am I late”
“yes, ah you were the Tuesday slot. Take a seat”
“what seems to be the problem?”
“the problem?”
“yes, what is it that brings you here”

“a taxi”

“a taxi sir?”

“well, if I’m honest I came by bus and pony”
“have you left your pony outside sir”
“no they’re here”

“where, them”
“yes them, always reliable, well, generally reliable at least”
“don’t they belong to someone else”

“well yes, but he does lend them out”
“yes, I ride them from time to time myself, delightful on soft ground”
“yes, I do like them on the beach, barefoot”
“yes, anyway, what brings you here”

“this is a very nice chair”
“do you like it”

“yes, the velour, splendid colour, if this horsehair”

“after a fashion. Some time after the fashion it should be said”
“yes”

“Sir, to cut to the chase, is that a tree growing out of your head”
“a what”

“a tree”
“well, that’s why I’m here”
“because of the tree”

“is that what it is?”
“I confess, in all my professional years, well, I confess I’m not entirely sure.”
“do you take that everywhere you go”
“well you have one too”
“yes, but well”
“yes I do, doesn’t everyone?”
“well yes, I believe they do, but”
“yes”
“yes”
“anyway that tree, does it take much watering”

“sunlight mainly”
“sunlight?”
“keeps the er…”

“yes, yes it does, is, yes”
“so some water……and er,”
“not too much”
“no”
“sometimes on Tuesdays”
“was that last….”

“no that was a call”
“calling?”

“vocational training”
“really”
“well the switchboard, you know”

“well”

“you see
“well, yes I do, oh dear”
“there do seem to be quite a number coming in”

“incoming?”
“no this hour is all yours, but there is cyborg waiting downstairs”
“really?”
“well, professional confidentiality”
“I passed a Gibbon on the way in”

“Gibbon?”
“Gibbon, yes, lovely singing voice”
“Yes, its just she won’t sing”
“will she not?”
“such a shame, sings fantastic arpeggios…… and sonatas”
“why won’t she sing”
“sir, you surely did not come here to discuss the Gibbon downstairs”
“no”
“the Elephant?”
“very pleasant”
“then?”
“it is a very nice chair”
“the tree”

“is it a tree?”
“ I believe it might be, but er, it seems quite dynamic”
“well that is the issue”
“the issue”
“it’s the dynamism”

“dynamism”
“does move a lot”

“I see yes, it does indeed.  Cup of tea?”
“no thank you doctor, just water”
“and sunlight?”
“oh yes”
“Please, move the chair by the window”
“well”
“it is, yes”
“anyway, what was it”
“yes, that’s it”
“well, I have to say, I’m not entirely sure. Seems to be going in circle. The sunlight, it must be better”
“shade is nice from time to time”
“I do like it, dappled I find most delightful”
“hmmm”
“yes, well, it does seem very dynamic, I suggest you return in a week”
“I never travel I weeks”
“seven days then”
“Yes Dr, seven days would be good. Do you think it will grow much”
“Um. Seems, er, possible, but I have to say, its somewhat outside my competence”
“well?”
“I’m sure it will er, be dynamic”
“Well that can be a problem, I find it impossible to tie down”
“Dynamism?”
“Well if that’s all your offering I can ask the Gibbon in on my way down”
“No, no, if dynamism is the problem can I suggest something more concrete”
“Golloshes”
“I was thinking, more life, platforms?”
“Seems heavy on the walking”
“a fixed platform sir, somewhere to stand”
“ah yes, I understand”
“Over?”
“Under”
“Over”
“I’ll send the Gibbon in”
“Is it a Gibbon?”
“I thought it impolite to ask, she doesn’t sing”
“Oh. Great pity”

“Yes great pity”
“Still, in time”

Sunday lunch

This test pressed breath
My guess, goes, guesses, guest, gets
Nowhere, now here
I starved argued this ague
Fatigue and yet how I prayed
Fatigued teen, turned pro, carbo turbo
I gave word to the wrong tree
Alternately, what worth is this
I guess there are places

Far above this and whatever
They say I have
Can dance the toe tangled
Tango of each threaded hair
Fleece of my line of wool
Spooling graceful from the spindle
And there a thimble rings
That sweet glut a second ripe
Plucked to write or swing or run
Or travel to foreign lands
I have no advice for this

Instant of bliss
And each ticklish whisper
Of a love I forgot, forsook
Transferred to pawn
I was forewarned
But I weave back gentle calm.

Road to where? Here again?

Epi-pen? Epi-leming? Epi-leptin? 
Epi-fanny?
What road was that?
Road to what dam?
Dam what? Hamsters, impossible.

Road to dam, ask us?
Where?
Dangerous out there
Better turn back

To where? What?
Rome got Covid and what not.
Road, I'm all about road
But our roads are rivers
Our species has always lived there
By the riverside
Down by the riverside.

I am born with two legs
Skirted by the coracle

Round bowl of travel
Round this table served
Promethean inheritance
Baltic, herringbone omens.

Cognate of Brigid, Agni
When the camel whispered to the horse
And they sped the dream of fire
Drew the wolf pack

The Dneiper, black soil of the Ukraine
Yamnaya, my feet share the word for Birch
For Bear and Fox,
The Oxus, The Aral, Indus
Ganges, The Caspian, oars
Upon shoulders Rus
Herringbone fortunes, to Halifax.
Rochdale, the Calder valley where

The trees are but sixty years old
My feet revolve
Faster than the bullet
Train.
In stillness there is movement
In movement, stillness.
The sunlight, hot. Shadows through the fig leaves
This quiet
So frighteningly precious
Broken by whirring petrol
Motors and not 

As it should be properly
By song
By song, down by the riverside
Where we all come from

And belong
Dancing on Elephants
Dancing on Elephants unknown.




 

Sharpnel 28

What this brand new dawn
And this full drawn path is not yet set

For if I was to walk Nipon, agang guns

For furious furtive funds, forsook these nooks and crannies
No granny would I smile upon, no love nor look for children

But it is not his evil it is more
It past paths times to implore
It is too wrong to feel this way
No more

It's all stardust

Stardust formed in frequency 

In forces

We drink photons in machinery

I hold a roll of photons in my fingers
Planted and dug
After eons of heat and pressure
Millenia of giants
Like a circus motorcade, triangulated

Giant gymnastics, a top these shoulders

Dug photons in my head I taste
Stardust in my bowl
My mouth
And these vowels we share
All change please

We must press light

Press light in packets and dockets

Faster than production lines
There is so little time
Ford unaffordable 
These shores no longer borders
What have we become
Stardust.

For You who stops the traffic

You, like a duvet of warm cream
Fractions
In my bereft mathematics
You appear, sunlight in my attic
A delight amidst thick cobwebs
And coughing dust
Pass my marbles back
When I have thrown them out in anger
That makes me yours forever.

For today

Well so deep let
My quill dip your dark ink
And paint
Loneliness in this company
When cold runs in me
So few dare
Your arms upon my shoulders
More real for the absence
All I feel is your care

My bare heart
You parted from me. 

Oily issue

Here’s an oily issue
Public Debt, they stack it up

Pass the buck, bank to state, state to bank
Bank to Antiguan vault, many thanks (or few)
Here’s an oily issue
Price stability, what’s that cost if it’s not been made
But money’s free? Beyond me
Beyond my whares, my whares be
Minimal as needs.

There is a problem of BOGOF
And Rogoff (fake data, weighting
far columns invade the land facts)

It ain’t how we used to be, its how we act
Now.
Swap the cash between your pockets
Forget wage slips and pay packets
No mucking about, just hand the cash out
Metal mickey, R2
They’ll be picking cabbages for you.

To balance out, leave the issue in the ground
Leave it, leg it go, under pressure the pumps will flow
Without pressure lakes lie fallow

The oily issue, just leg it go
Then tomorrow we might find
A cleaner state of mind, and of those left behind
Well, they’ll never know.

I took a little metal bottle top
It was too much for the planet
One more little metal bottle top
And well they cannot manage it

We cannot be imperiously free
For imperious is serious a condition like a flea
Suckers, its an oily issue
A guess we’ll miss you, black gungy goo
But for serious you cannot be imperious

We must dance with humility
Hug everything from birds to trees
Just try and wait and see
There’s land beyond humanity.

Rhizosphere

(For Big G)

That which touches
Presses gaps, pockets of our toes
Skin, dusting grains, the icing on
Rich cake.
Rhizosphere
When magma has turned its red
Guts over into Basalt
Air made Pumice stone,
Layering sediments with care
The Gnomes beneath till
Till unruly worms roam the strata
Disturbing nutrients
Like cold currents of Earth

Two million species in a teaspoon
Dirt. Moist earth
Art starch, fructose
Softened star dust transforming
Into new frequencies, vibration
Mycellium, cellular cerebellum thing
Encodes connection.
What in the lightless granular
Pocketed compost? Fragile
White flecks like maps
Such wistful, delicate filigree
The brains of our earth.
Works away, slow digestion in optimum
Energy output and function
We connect with just
Earth chicken, fleshy fruit and see
Less than of our seas
What must they know?

The spirits of the moist earth.

Battle Bars Twelvty Seven

I come hard like
Life on a dollar
You the type
To fit your mum with a dog collar
Sell her for small change.
I hate that, getting fronted
By cat's with small brains.

Quite simple. Me
I ain't gully, I'm not ghetto

Sharp and elevating
Like the heels of a stilletto

Serious mind
Can you see me?
The type to watch static chessboards
Like most watch TV

You'll never make it on telly
You the type take your little sister
And sell her to R.Kelly.