lawnchair before sunrise

ants led the way to the old boathouse
planks softened and warped
shingle roof dipped,
door scraped rough to touch
inside musty scent of the past decaying,
memories inserted of another life,
stacked next to tins forgotten and paint,
four lawnchairs
metal mottled chrome flaked
still cold to the touch,
infused with a past when
there where echoes of a young
family that once been
part of me,
lifting one out
stiff opening action,
outside in the air
it could of turned to dust,
instead it bore my weight
now i had passed an elegant age
lighter not so heavy,
eyes dimmed slowly in slumber,
this chair was symbolic in it’s structure
bending straps
rubber perished
one snapped,
i did not want to move
with wild turkey
and some cigars,
would i see the sunrise
that would have to wait till morning

image from recyclart.org

elephant looks in a broken mirror

when a thought becomes a fraction

divided into memory

and everyday fatigue

it settles not happy to remain

will divide again

into dreams and realization

long cerebral passageways

cluttered with electric snapshots

of a life lived long,

thinking was a process

started in the morning

after rinsing mouth and bathing

combed and prepared

opened the mind

some fractions found division harder

and became elongated spools

of tension and agitation

hands that tremor

ever so slightly

as sipping a glass of lemonade,

beneath this mass of

seething activity

normal had almost resumed

old fractions worked

looking at a photo album

your son found in the loft

other debris of a life in one place

gathered and divided

and will be when your

gone

dverselogo

 

 

measurements of body and mind

her anthropometrics

where as the one percent

as stated by tilley 84,

rove and reach of shoulder

pivots found the old cream towel,

drawn about

her form partially visible

in steamed mirror,

obscured as much as

thoughts in mind,

he was here

within these yellow walls

box of existence,

and seen flesh promised

long ago,

breasts heavier in their curve

and descent yet pliable

to kiss and touch,

face accentuated by features

another birthday brings,

yet he was remaining

on the sprung mattress

iron frame a secure

resting place,

his fingers found nature

and illumination in copper

hair spilling on damp shoulders

a gentleness that surprised after

passionate initiation ,

eyes drawn down

further rolling form of belly

indented by umbilical reminder

to that v between the thighs,

once thought blemishes

stretch marks

and cellular distortion

would detract and place him

away from her,

yet he waited

as she hurried towel as a cloak

mind and steam

dissipated ,

returning to a bedroom

no longer solitary

to absorb more feeling

Degas, Edgar woman-with-a-towel-1898

magpie tales statue stamp 185

Said as it Was

the clock as a passenger

looks with helpless hands,

as time often cast upon

the rocks of mans momentum

stalls past and present collide,

memory that flattering

cinemagraph of the synaptic’s

relays something other than was,

short breaths come

falter far from the heart,

we as living in this space

age,

flesh wither

wrinkles cluster and deepen

bones become fragile,

yet we strive to linger on

place ourselves as memory on others

so that it is not in vain

even a fragile hand held

is a memory,

cruel tides wash through time

that pull and toss you about,

so steady you remain

until that moment,

that flesh becomes shell

and memory is a function

of recollection,

not ready

it happens

now it is time to accept

and face your own reflection

again

 

 

We Can Be Read

years as chapters bisect life,

sometimes unread

others cluttered with paragraphs,

three daughters and a father,

unseen almost for novel length,

new lives

new mortal possessions ,

at an abstract distance

they had gone,

his bitterness a vile oil

through birth and extension,

then connection made,

grandchild opaque eyes

face untouched by life,

reluctant then relenting

folding away oil infused

parchment skin,

exposing heart and soul

for forgiveness and love

carrion to emotion,

an embrace that reaches

to the outer confines of space,

things would be different,

as he looked to the last pages

already knowing the ending

magpie tales statue stamp 185

 

hands

Resonance and Fear

hospital blue cotton suit,

feeling ready for this,

table lain

resting arms head in clamp

mask screwed over

field of vision diminished,

at your request music playing

to drown out whatever,

automated table draws you in,

it starts with

magnetic thrum

waves of sound

that offer no comfort,

gets louder and louder,

expecting a rip in time

so the brain they are photographing

can see and be part of

the history that creates our soul,

abstract thoughts show as synaptic

fire,

ghost shadows of words

not spoken or written,

time almost at a standstill

louder it gets,

in this tube white walled

a medical torpedo

to be discharged,

behind a screen

they where looking and seeing

not a face and flesh

but it’s transparency

bone and internal softness

compacted to fit,

it is done

once done glad of silence,

you wait these days for a sign

and sat with doctor it comes

age travels to different parts

progressive but relentless

and now that brain

so visual in it’s ways

is showing early signs

Waiting In Line

frosted lens one secret eye,

it’s time almost gone,

other vibrant blue watery,

she waited to be served

packaged meals enough for

a few days,

tremors with age

cellular collapse,

life’s abrupt stoop to spine,

coat drawn snug,

cold reaches more easily

through mottled paper,

her turn,

trolley a support to feet

more unsteady than an infant,

red leather handbag

leather fashion for forty years

cracked and glazed,

pleased to talk to the assistant

juddering conversation,

sprawled out topics of conversation

no linear trail,

topics of weather,

her husband passed twenty years,

lack of pension,

always broke,

children dispersed seed unconnected

and when she was younger

flew planes in the Pacific

a job few knew of,

no government medal,

yet she offered her life

as she did now to survival,

gnarled arthritic hands

struggled with notes and coins

tomorrow a fragile

premise