April 2018

mealed-with-flesh
from man-mold made
man-mould mound

a universe
wholly cosmetic
(who knows how?)

nothing's said hot
lest it be dreamed out
in nothing but words

a twitter of insignificance from the cygnet

a tui
chimes descant to
its shadow

shining cuckoo in transparent absence

baby booming
songs of departure
thunder light

unseen breeze
just as night rustles
into the earth

wordless tryst
the scent of crushed leaves
where we lay

sighs adrift
in the shadow shift
of a fontanelle

ebbing light—
a milk-heavy cow tastes
the last of it

distant storm
a door creaks open
to absence

haiku rubrics
red ochred hands
scale the wall

paschal moon
i eat what i am
to become

In Isolation

One of the positives of living in these small, isolated, and lightly populated islands is that one has the opportunity of not only being able to become (should one so desire) a big artistic fish in a small sea, but also one comes to know many other artistic fish as friends and regular acquaintances, including many mentioned in this linked article.

In my college and university years I read everything that I could lay my hands on while also attending artist parties, poetry readings, art shows etc. etc. Perhaps I had become a regular culture vulture with literary aspirations of my own without the voice I could yet call my own in the ferment of artistic activity flourishing all around in the ass-end of the world.

By some strange twist in the fabric of the tapestry of fate, I found my voice in the ever-challenging muteness of my first born's autism-born psychic isolation and resistance to human contact.

My literary silence continued for the four decades of my life that I embraced as father and provider for a growing family sailing along the spectrum as refracted by the apparent spectre of autism and its consequences for us a family living at or beyond the fringe of normality.

No longer able to work I have ventured a little out of the silent darkness of a paleolithic cave to rediscover my voice as a small fish in a vast ocean before it falls into timeless silence.

haiku verse
my voice settles within
dreaming room

a tulip waits  
in the silence
before daylight   

a river's roar rises 
from the heart of darkness  

the yellowed keys  
of a vintage steinway  
gather dust   

songs of yesteryear 
seep through cracked windows 

a sparrow feather 
stays aloft 
in the summer sun  

barely a breath  
the stillness  
of a deer  

child lying slain  
by a father's gun  

the echo  
of an ancient tale 
now so real  

from the belly of leviathan  
he slouches toward ninevah   

sunset fire  
its hour comes round  
in the end   


Clayton Beach 
Hansha Teki