stonepoem : 365

I know the way.
Every inch and mile
each turn and blur
every waypost sigh,
I know the way.
Yes, I do.
And I know you.
And we both know
it’s time to move.
Lay the landscape bare
unbutton roads -
each lane and every track
open to the journeys
never coming back.
I know the way.
Turn left, turn right
straight over keeping on.
We will have miles
beneath our wheels,
like every breath
that ever was -
like every glancing move
like each wilful lover lost
we will travel on.
I know the way
I really do -
don’t stop, don’t stop
until I say.

Destination.

I am
on a train and
fate is faster than I
sleek and slipstream sharp
like an arrow, twisting
through all I know now
inevitable, like a silk flag
stretched and tacked
my talisman, now my target
sewn with silver pins
worn to show a difference
torn now by indifference
raised up for my deliverance.
And I am on a train,
again.

We swam out and said come on in.
and so they did but where are we?
Still swimming, still dreaming, still?
The trouble I believe is ours not theirs
and now we must admit we do not know -
what shall we do? What happens next?
Let us follow on awhile and see.

Once,
I had a thought.
It was small
It was vulnerable
And it was very brave.
Like a tiny fish
Without a shoal
Lost and circling,
And puffing-up
Two times -
maybe four.
Couraged gainst
The sharpened teeth
By some pretence
This little fish,
This little thought
Swam on.

Stilled am I in lull of night
No ocean’s move save salted spite
And where go I in loose-rigged winds?
No bounding heave, no push and cleave,
No rising line or white-mane minds.
All quietened like the muted damned,
Horizon-fixed with tar glued stares
Through eyes that blaspheme stars,
And with curses for a speechless sea
And the stolen shore yet far way.
I lie silent, waiting and becalmed.
Just these thoughts for company.
Oh take me home to those,
that wait for me.

Oh, sorry.
Didn’t mean to offend.
I was just … resting here awhile
Thinking on things, journeying inside.
The rules involved weren’t clear to me,
I did not think you’d mind so much.
Me, just sitting and watching
This world and others passing by,
Not knowing you demand a show.
Tell you what, give me a few more days.
Just need to collect my thoughts
Before moving on.

Meet me,
at the first dream to the left
after the midnight bells.
I’ll be the one wearing a cape
made from peacock’s pride,
and a satin patch over
the wrong eye.
I mean it!
I’ll be there!
Waiting,
for someone -
someone like I’ve never met
(but have always known).
Someone carrying magic
in the heels of their shoes.
But how will I know
if it is you?

Not even poets know his name
This man who cuts all labels
from his virtuoso clothes.
And he who only speaks
through wistful
enigmatic notes,
has used no words
in weeks of history
with doctors and interpreters
from Poland, France (and Sweden too).
He has no voice -
slammed shut in mystery.
Incommunicado,
since that rain-soaked night
of sudden wandering
that puzzles all.
Did he fall out with someone?
Did he fall off a ship?
Did he fall off the world?
Listen how
he plays for solace
in his days.