March 2016

 
no-go zone no flies on him
 
as sleep comes the fly
 
between chopsticks the fly
 
after all eggs to lay the fly
 
in the food-court all are the fly
 
sometimes verb mostly noun the fly
 
his name born in flight the fly
 
the fly is patient with your vanity
 
waiting on a clock time flies
 
eyeing the ointment the fly
 
in summer wind the fly blown 
 
remembering Issa the fly
 
at prayer time the fly
 
six carcasses in search of a fly
 
breaking down the issue a fly
 
before and after love the fly
 
speeding through the flight of the bumblebee the fly
 
giving life to the feast the fly
 
a fly interrupts the music of the spheres
 
testing wanton boys the fly
 
no flies on him the fly
 
splatted in his own reflection the fly
 
the fly doesn't believe in swat
 
to fly or not to fly the fly
 
in flight announcements from the fly
 
the fly lays down the last words
 
dotting an i the fly
 
the fly takes joy from our sorrow
 
in communing on the dead the fly knows
 
switched to flight mode the fly's cells
 
the fly mops up after a drone 
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'what is truth'?
a journalist kneels
in his desert
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a cortege in the wake of her corsage

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an embryo
vibrant in the silence
of her eyes
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A Thorny Issue
 
 
is this 'rose'
in all its rose-ness?
how it pierces
into my pain?
how it spills dew
down darkening red?
its hint of breath
in its surrender?
 
to know this
as a rose
in my blood-beat,
is it in the means
to know it?
or is this the end of knowing
in itself?
 
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Part I
 
word-flesh
 
is this 
bloom
 
the in-
carnation
 
of your yes-
terday
 
 
Part II
 
with the breath 
of darkness
the word
becomes
 
 
Part III
 
dawn herald
the wordless prepares
its nest
 
 
 
Part IV
 
in the East
a still point escapes
its birth cry
 
the long wait of a falling hush
 
maid in silence
her eyes brighten
with a word
 
 
 
Part V
 
'fiat lux'
an empty nest blooms
full of grace
 
a yes word encircles the snake's hiss
 
luminous dawn
night's immensity 
immanent now
 
 
Part VI
 
a call
quiet enough
to ignore
 
a womb entombing silence
 
am o
am as
am at
 
am en
 
 
Part VII
 
in pure water
a word incarnadine
 
footfall 
by lamp light
 
the all fleshing out
its path 
 
 
Part VIII
 
the sound of
a word barely conceived
 
utter sense of being
enunciating a 'yes'
bone by bone
 
 
Part IX
 
at this hour
when the word is yet
to be uttered, its breath
barely a whisper
 
when brooding wings 
overshadow you
with a stillness, far beyond 
any possible eavesdropping
 
when your waiting 
rises to it,
enfolding 
its mystery
 
when, for all time,
all waiting
comes down
to this:
 
a sublime silence
putting its roots down
into the earth of you
 
a cloud
of unknowing, now,
so irreversibly
 
your flesh
 
 
Part X
 
spring awakening
a hyacinth overflows
night's immensity
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A Way with Roses 


eyes arise in bead chant dawn
 
so long a decadence counting down
 
rain drops beading on mystery
 
my head  space   stretches    wider     between      each
  
in darkness voices trailing off the decades
 
now and 
at the hour 
of our hour
 
nativity
our other son dead
from birth
 
nightly tryst
we explore the spaces
in each other
 
our voices shell-borne doxology of the sea
 
in darkness fingering mystery
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autumn noon
the present warms
to me
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Lenten fast
I dwelt on nothing
while light changed
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a rebel 
made godless I deify
my self
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training wheels for the inso(mno)lence of being

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the blueness
of a colourless sky
it was legendary
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deep valley
forest trees today
sound of the sea
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a cicada filling out its isness

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cicadas
ever-static music
of the spheres
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with autumn ripeness
a redness quickens the sky
from its lethargy
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turning leaf
the consistency
of departures
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earth the consistency of departures

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an old oak
turns in its own way
I in mine
 
 
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by autumn light
the this and that of nows –
it all makes sense
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falling cadence –
the silences a cicada
lets slip through
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after love
we are the music
we were
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snapped
in a selfie
me no more
 
 
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autumn issue . . . 
haiku guardians 
litter pathways
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stormy sea –
brooding over Sado
the milky way
 
reinterpreting a hokku by Basho
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maris turbati –
quiescet super Sado
via lactea
 
reinterpreting a hokku by Basho
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dark room 
the image of a leaf
as it fell
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nowhere to go
the colour of forgetting
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in the light
from which light casts
a mere shadow
 
for Svetlana Marisova (17 March - on what would have been her 26th birthday)
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a shadow seeps
from a stream in the trees 
the silence of God
 
for Franz Wright (18 March - on the birthday he didn't see)
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breaking even
the equinox splits
our differences
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holy fire,
burn away the seeming
of dream-rise
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so soon
the earth blooms
dead leaves
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a song
in the making
of its silence
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autumn leaves
not now but then
when winter comes
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within
without a breath
dead words
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mud-baked
a phantom dwelling
under the basho
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nothing more
the ever-presence
death evades
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trumpet rally
evangelicals summon
their golden calf
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tapping still
against my eye-lids
cave-red palms
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breath pause . . .
a moment's suspension
in monotones
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autumn rain . . .
I write myself out
of my haiku
 
 
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a race memory relaxes into its present tense

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morning light
a good day to die
to oneself
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there where i am no longer

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autumn morn . . .
a monarch rises up
its gibbet
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after the fall
fifty shades
of pink
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autumn rise . . .
rustles of the past
in the wind
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wine-dark eyes . . .
across a drunken sea
purpling grapes
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selfie-bait
t(w)ittering behind
fanned fingers
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