Lie of the Land

I will not walk,
across those hills again.
There is nothing
to be seen from up there.
Just this town.
Laid out flat and
peaceful.
So much the lie,
The life down here
is not calm
or ordered.
There are clashes
and chaos in the streets.
When you talk to friends,
or workmates,
it's a knife fight.
Who to trust?
Who is right?
The keys to the levels,
are hidden from me,
and I cannot compete.
So the view from the hills,
is not mine.
I will stay down here
and watch the windmills,
frantic signalling.

Matched

I see them.
The two mismatched,
who are matched.
He, the shaggy,
craggy "man mountain"
or "gentle giant".
Now smiling at
the conversation
with the academic,
thin and pale.
Wielder of stiletto questions
"Who says?" and "So what?",
now actually laughing,
as though her
summer dress has
floated her to
some sunlit field.
Then I see that
his shirt is the same
green as the dress.
And their sandals are the same style,
and that when they laugh,
they look at each other.
So it is me who does
not belong and
I am the looker-on.
And this is good.

My poem at Poetry24

Is here

Ribboned

Blue ribbon of light,
in a white space.
Twisting and rippling.
Turning and shifting.
White light spots
spark along the length,
pin-pointing
reactions
losing and gaining,
taking and giving.
A soft rustling is heard
as the ribbons flutter,
and energy is created
or destroyed.
Each of them is different
but all  the blue ribbons
undulating
in the white light
are hiding their meaning
in plain sight.

Reading Frame

A reading frame is
a rectangle of space
outlined in plastic tubes,
which helps children learn
to read by making them
concentrate on the words
inside the frame.
Avoiding the
distractions
of the bigger story.
I think that this is how
I live my life,
seeing the small segments
inside the frame
and not seeing the whole story.
Which also means
that I do not get involved
in this life as much as others do,
and finding a unifying thread is hard.
It is small segments joined together
to me, and the
narrative is
secondary to just getting through
the current space. 

Rose Up

The Tyrant called me
late one night  and
asked me to come
and talk of roses.
Which I did because you
did not turn him down.

We sat down together
and I talked to this man,
who waded through history,
of flowers and soil and rain.
He had the peasant view
that roses are a rich
person's flower so
was eager to prove himself.

A year later he wanted to talk
about water, and how to move it
around his grounds.
There were more security men
at that time because
he was under threat.

Months later he wanted to
talk of grapes but
I think that really he
just wanted to talk to me.
Called me "Dear Doctor" at the greeting
and said that
I was the only one who
told the truth and was not scared.
He did not know that I had to
burn my clothes after every meeting.

Only afterwards did I think
That I could have told him about
roses at the end of grape rows.
That act in an early warning role.
But that would not have helped him
because by then
his head was on a pole.

Square Deal

I have my seat,
where I can see
but not be seen.
I am categorising people
as they arrive for a concert
in the square and I like
how they mix and flow.
Here are some men in their 50's
arms crossed over bellies
ducking and weaving as they
recite best loved stories.
They help a young mother with her pram
who has split off from a group
of teenage girls who look
casually fabulous, if a little uniform.
Three teenage boys walk past
and there is enough
sliding eye contact to
start a forest fire.
A mother and daughter
seem to be using sign language
but then see the father
and the son who come
over from the Hot Rods.
The son smiles cheesily and
talks to the daughter
who turns her back on him
but smilingly.
While the parents shake their heads
in unison.
It is important to
see all this, to realise
that people can still get along.
At this time the sun
and  music have
worked for them.
Because there is not much
that does that these days.
Not much to bind
when the major push in society
is for individuals
at the expense
of us all.