Thursday, 26 March 2020

Black Haun an the Weaver























Coin spun the air aroon’t an fell on the blue tattoo.
Black Haun cleek’t his bluebird ower the silver’t nickel.
He bade Chaunce to spik afore the Law steps in
tae spik o gravity, averages, diminishin returns.

then there is mystery












then there is the mystery
of upward-falling rain
how the eyes become prisms
bending tomorrow’s light

Monday, 23 March 2020

Mother





















Chiming,
the bells ring for necessity,
crying from their hearts:
who’s there, who’s not,
who was, was never.

Thursday, 19 March 2020

in times of isolation
















in times of isolation hear
lone strings vibrate feel
air on your face remember
the shape of crowds moving

Monday, 16 March 2020

breeze














wind blows from the east
(no longer an ill wind) and the west
discretely coughs behind its hand

Sunday, 8 March 2020

Friday, 6 March 2020

Avenue






















Was it sun in the pine trees,
or cypress branches feathered
under snow? or, in the frost,
hemlock needles remembering
lemon-scented spring-time?

Saturday, 29 February 2020

Resistance














In the Americas,
never peaceful, neighbours
in paralysed cities, dance
around each other and
arrive at blows, words
of distance and dissent;

Smeddum













As if I was ground to dust and my heart still in it,
even with my bones powdered to meal,
my blood dried to a paste and my flesh
in torn strips, dried to pemmican;

I would still drag a smile from this pulled-pork face,
let the half-hearted wind blow my hopeless pieces into piles,
and still feel earthbound energy rise from my grains.

Sunday, 23 February 2020

metadata



















software parses
motherboards mirror you
sector by sector
passwords protect us

data

the bigger the data
the harder the snow of it
you smother under
     decisions
     not your own
     decisions about you
     and what you will or will not
     consume

Friday, 31 January 2020

Tuesday, 28 January 2020

Tuesday, 7 January 2020

be ready























be ready...

as it rains
on your parade
and the rising water
reminds you of seaweed
and turbulence

Monday, 6 January 2020

winter #69














winter’s
discontent
lies in snow unfallen
none of it expected
any time soon