MRS GEARY

 

Mrs Geary, selling spuds

A bargain at tuppence a pound

Her shop is now flats, she is long gone

But I feel that she's still around

Back on the street where I was so small

Remembering the places I'd hide

Mrs Geary still opens her shop

And welcomes the young me inside.

HUES

Like a distant relatives surprise visit

we begrudgingly welcome autumn

skirts of leaves dress lawns

gathering in wind traps

for hedgehogs to explore

wood pigeons dominate bird tables 

angry starlings keep their peace

the days get shorter

as if to stifle

winters faint call.

STARDUST

The vast time loop of deep space

seeing stars long since destroyed

in supernova fury

our very atoms forged in

such cosmic soup

such cosmic mirrors

reflect back on ourselves

everyone we've loved

everyone we will ever love

shining back at us as we 

reflect on the universe

JOURNEYS

 Night hums a far more interesting tune than day. Its people have better stories. The cloak of anonymity that falls around night lends it furtive excitement. Often people don't choose to inhabit the night. Fate chooses for them. Humanity comes from understanding these journeys.

BIN TO THE FUTURE

 

I once met a time traveller

Jolly was he

Said he's from the future

One I couldn't see

I asked him was it wondrous?

Grinning like a child

He said "I'm from Tomorrow

You forget the bins"

And smiled.

SIMULANTS

 

They say we live in a simulated reality

can it be?

are we all but ones and zeros in some space hero's home?

where we roam

where all of our life has been just algorithms

schisms of code in a galaxy far far away

don't you feel like we're glitching

just hitching a ride?

let's make it to the next level

where we fight the devil

or blow up something

or meet the princess

or blow up something

failing that 

if all hope is lost

if we're out of lives

with failing health

just turn us off

and on again

we can start over

we space rovers

LIGHT

If light be rationed

And doled out by the book

I'd join the longest queue

Just so I could see your look

I'd hoard all my hours 

So I could see your smile

Without you I'm in darkness

So I'd definitely stockpile

Rising early every morn'

To bring you sunrise

And the dawn

LEFT IN THE WAKE

 Lucia Joyce is buried in our cemetery. Troubled daughter of James. A beauty in her day, a talented dancer, one-time girlfriend of Samuel Beckett. Mates wife treated her in local mental health hospital where she spent her later years.

"My daddy writes stories", she once told her.

POWER CUT

 Alarm?

Erm

Flashing clock

Why?

Power Cut

When?

PANIC!

Kid 1

Kid 2

Kid 3

Get up

Get up 

Get up 

Dog

Get down

No walk 

Not yet

Toast

Toast

Toast

Toilet flushing

Teeth a'brushing

Socks?

Pants?

Hurry 

Hurry

Hurry

Bag 1

Bag 2 

Bag 3

Go

Go

Go

Love 

Door slam

Door slam

Door slam

You

RULES IS RULES

 Tuesday. The better-looking twin of Monday.  The gauze of early morning is being tugged at by elfin birdsong. The angry scooter down the road pipes up as if someone's tossed screams into a choir. It's chased away by the silence 6am demands in our street. 

Rules is rules.

STARLIGHT

We're made of stardust and slight regret
forged within explosive acts
Atoms scattered 'cross whole milky ways
billions of years ago

Yet more than the stars
Much more than the matter
We are the moment
We are the now

We are dust again too soon

This is our firmament

HEAD SCRATCHER

It's true that we can look up into the night sky and see starlight from millions of years ago, only now reaching us from the long, cold journey through space and time. It's also true that a lot of these stars may have already ended their existence, blowing apart in massive supernova events, scattering their stardust over the galaxies. We are made from stardust. The very atoms that are our basic building blocks were forged in such events. It is therefore safe to assume that when we turn our heads to the heavens, look upon images of long-dead stars still shining brightly in the sky, we could simultaneously be looking at parts of ourselves that are now down here on Earth looking starward. It's quite the head-scratcher.

B/W LOVE

 

There is a memory

of colour at this time

of day

A kitchen sink realism 

of a Saturday night and

Sunday morning

My room at the top

is an L shaped room

This is my street

My family way

I have a place to go

A kind of loving

The homeliness of 

the long distance poet.

INFINITE VISION

See the universe in your eyes
Infinite pools of reflection
Gaze to the heavens
Gaze to the skies
There you will find the connection.

SHORE LEAVE

We walk along the tidal ties of time
Leaving rippled footprints in our wake
It's not for us the swelling surf to climb
On peaceful shores our memories we make.

POSSIBILITIES

There's a tiny shaft of light
You can hardly call it that
Peeking in my room
Yet lying still and flat

Contained within this light
In this miniature sun-ray
Are endless possibilities
For the greatest day.

CHAMPION

In heady, heady, days of yore
of Champion The Wonder Horse
I'd run to school and run right back
gallop cross my fields & track
the swiftest arrows,now quite slow
have lost their whizz, lost their bow
the only streak of flashing light
is me at midnight's prostate flight!

MORNING HAIKU - Fun For Old Rope

Where the child goes home
When they have long skipped the day
Fun waits patiently

SQUATTERS WRITE

I live with Anxiety and Depression.

They squat with me.

They know their rights.

Anxiety has a thousand ideas for home improvement.

              all at once 

        at the same time 

simultaneously     

              together

   concurrently

Not concurrently.

That's not at the same time. 

Or is it?

Damn.

Start again. 

                 from the start

    of course from the start

       where else can you start

     if you didn't 

                start at the start

     it wouldn't be called 

the start

Start again

It's not Anxiety's house. 

It squats with me.

It knows its rights

Depression hates every single one of these ideas

They're not outstanding 

They're not superb 

They're not terrific 

They're not unsurpassed 

They're not transcending 

They're not matchless

They're as fucking stupid as you are

Which is ordinarily stupid

No

Just ordinary

Now that’s depressing

It's not Depression’s house.

It squats with me it knows its rights.

Black mold on the walls

Black holes on the soul

That’s better. 

I should let Anxiety know that one

Though he’d only worry about black holes

Sucking out all the light 

Spewing forth darkness

Chewing up universes

One atom at a time

And what a time to be alive

If time had any meaning 

We hang watches from our wrists 

We hang clocks on the wall

We hang our heads in shame

We’re time lords

And ladies and gentlemen

Welcome to the beginning of time

Which probably started with a black hole

Having crushed another universe into oblivion

Vomits it forth into ours

Screaming and crying

A reincarnated newborn

With no one to slap its arse and tell it to breathe

But it does

The immaculate conception

Born of a crushed universe

And?

And probably God

Why not?

It’s as safe a place to start as any

And there is nowhere to start

At the beginning of time

Or nowhen 

Now then

Anxiety and Depression

They know their rights

They squat in me

Astride my hopes and with my fears

But I’ve grown attached to them 

They told me to say that

Stockholm Syndromes

The pair of them

They know their rights

And I know i’m right

And I know they know their rights

And they know I know I’m right

It’s all very cosy inside my brain

Or whatever part of me makes me 

Me

I think it’s my brain

But many years ago

At one time or another

It was my dick

My liver

My sweet left foot

And my blue blue eyes

Both of them you see

I needed both to see

I needed all of that to be me

Squatters rights

Squatters write on the walls

And on the toilet doors

And on the threadbare floors

And when they’ve written 

On every blank space 

They ruminate in rooms

And hate and wait

And often late

Though mark the date

And mark my words

There’s blank space yet 

Between the words

Because there’s the place

The blank space

We’ve yet to use

A whole universe awaits

Between the walls

Inside the cracks

Or maybe just maybe

That’s where the Black Holes live

Waiting to suck out the life and light

From those that dare

To fall between the words and the cracks

Now that they start to appear in my thinking

I wish i was still drinking

I’d remember it in the morning through groans

And moans and recriminations

A rainbow elation

When a rediscovered memory 

Becomes the pot of gold

It never gets old

Because time as I’ve said

Only exists because of the watches

And clocks 

And timetables

Which is where time is eaten

And washing up is done after a timely meal 

Or a tiny meal

And a Happy Meal comes with a toy

If you throw away the toy 

You can play with the packaging

And it’s damaging to

The environment

Which is wasteful 

Who needs the N in environment

What a waste

Ian Dury 

Goodnight.

Stephen Kerr 25.03.19

MORNING HAIKU

The first light appears,
Reveals all the blue colours
Before deciding

WINTERFOOD

Let leaves fall in confettis of autumn
as we marry the sights
of a land bronzed by fields
of harvested crops
under retreating sun
along juice-stained lanes
to giggles of children
and crumbling pie
in the blink of an eye
our golden memories
are safely gathered in

WINS A LOT

A full moon
A plaintive sky
A restless dog

The laziest hobo
wanders room to room
in fitful rounds of sleep

His new food
this silent protest

It won't change the world
but I'll change it back

I tell him
He snores

He dreams of victory
and his next campaign.

NO RETURNS?

Time

Bottle it if you can

Place it on a shelf

Call them memories

Take down when required.

FACE

The cliff fakes indelible marks
we are but fragments of the edifice
within snaps of generations trapped in cracks
cut through by tide and time
we know our sell by date
we live with crumbling permanence
yet somehow beauty endures
and we smile at, or for, the ages.

LEFT UNSAID

Behind the bins
And washing up
Smells from rooms
And broken cups

To time we've missed
Giving lifts
To kids with lives
In different shifts

To baggy clothes
We wear with shame
To PPI
We've tried to claim

To beaches lost
Cos we've been sick
From childhood illness
We thought kicked

To walking dogs
In pouring rain
To split poo bags
And mud parades

I love you

I don't say that much
But a hard, hard world
Needs your soft touch

(Stephen and Andrea Kerr. Still together since '97)