“Joseph A Ceremony”
Words, the rheumy catseye of a heavy magic paintbook,
A judicious reading from The Prophet,
Deftly humanist, and fudges choice: your
Children are the will of life
And not the will of self –
Co-opted, mooned and mangled cooed your name
You, raised by wool.
The glasnost of your soul
Soprano to my porous ethics.
15 months a mute (the time inside, remember)
Still inhuman to me, and less ghastly for it,
Like the pair of queenflesh we saw:
Silent monogamists.
She gliding five behind as if the first were saying:
“Opal, emblematic though you are
Of all the love a man should want,
I…”
An old boy flings some Sunblest to the water
Breaks the contraposto,
Their wake overtakes
And peck as one.
"Geography, our Accident"
Sheep run through snowy fields
To afternoon feeding;
Man banned from carrying pens.
Cars,
Create ice-sculptures
As puddles sluice and expand
Through Lancashire branches.
Can we all think of her today –
When birdnest chandeliers
And piano-fingers silhouette
Against the co-efficient blue.
Tissues of flight-path. –
To help her on her way?
Undeterred
We rut and issue;
And the Pennines, zen-like,
Plump their health through
Morning’s dusting.
