The Swallows

The Capistrano swallow returns home,

folds frozen wings and sings his song of spring,

beholds November’s softly falling leaves,

sings louder for he faithfully believes

his mate will hear his song and return home.

She’ll sing to him of all her joys of spring.

Offspring will hatch and fledge and her sweet spring

will quench his endless thirst until she leaves.

Then he’ll spend summer freezing in his home

for he believes that she brings home the spring.

Brown Dwarf

The brown dwarf was quite angry

looking at his shoes

It had only been ten million years

since he’d got the news.

“There must be some mistake”, he said

“Some kind of mass delirium.

Have you not seen what I can do?

I can fuse deuterium!”

“...and that is just the kind of trick

to knock ‘em on their arse.

Surely that’s enough for us

to qualify as stars?”

The jury sneered. “‘fraid not”, they said

“You’ve got good mass, it’s true,

but to be called a proper star

there’s shit you need to do.”

“Turn hydrogen to helium

somewhere in your core.”

“Fuck helium!”, snapped the angry dwarf.

“Helium’s a bore!”

With that the brown dwarf stormed out

and stalked back to his car.

“I’ll show those fucking snobs”, he hissed

“Some day I’ll be a star!”

True Story

at the edge of the field

the ball bounced to me

and something buried came awake

I took the ball up in rough hands,

felt the golden lace

that once contained us both

you were empty

under your fruiting tree

an untuned radio

washing away your memory

“let’s play?” I said,

held the ball weakly

you looked away

and asked vaguely

what we look like

from the sky.

Rubaiyat

What is that rather dusty quote

Re: what the moving finger wrote?

I think it says that time moves on,

that we cannot unsing our song

so all the things we had to say

live archived in dead yesterday.

There was a door to which I found no key

There was a veil past which I could not see

Some little talk awhile of you and me

but then our drop of water joined the sea.

Beside me in the wilderness

you arched your back at my caress

yet moved a finger of your own

to write a note which sent me home.

Perhaps to you it wasn’t weird?

A fly appeared then disappeared.

I’m paraphrasing sad old Omar’s sighs.

“A flower blooms just once before it dies.”

The cries resounding on this wailing wall?

These are but fairytales. Forget them all.

This one’s half Rubaiyat and half a song

my moving finger wrote and then moved on.

Song and Dance

The dolphin swimming from the shark

Does she look back or just swim on?

To her it’s life, to him a lark.

She must not stop to hear his song.

Does she look back or just swim on?

Imagine you were in her place:

Why do you stop to hear his song?

Do you perhaps enjoy the chase?

Imagine you were in his place:

She dances on yet you must feed.

Do you perhaps enjoy the chase

or just focus on what you need?

She dances on yet he must feed.

To him it’s life, to her a lark.

They both focus on what they need.

The dolphin swimming from the shark.

To a Poem

Where do you come from

in your tatty scribbled skin

whisper on the wind

fistful of pyrites

pig-iron of my soul

accretion of the dead ends

a blind man’s fingers met.

An untuned friend

dancing arabesques through the dark

I map your shadow

transcribe your steps

shred your disguises

with my crossings out.

Net wriggler

swarm of eels

combed out of silence

stained plaited stabilised

prisoner of a page

a lost flock hefted

one by one

through the nib of a pen.

For a moment then

I capture the four winds in a jar

the priceless effervescence

of a brand new star.

No papal smoke appears.

Just inky finger ends.