TRUTH

At the core
Of every woman
Is an emotional fire

At the heart
Of every hunter
Is a man who cries

HOPES

Medicine has two sides –
Only one seems realised here.
Surely skin is a two way
Affair, to keep out rain and
Sun, but also register emotion.

This ward is a game of chess.
What move will they make as
They manoeuvre near my bed?

Christ watches over
My wasted body
And the little me.
.
I hope to be out by Monday
Start picking up the pieces
Of who I am, of what
If anything, I will do
With the precious life
My heart circulates and holds.

THE WORLD IS A PEARL

I see dirty stars,
Lit furnaces wisely
Spaced, so as not to crowd
Newly formed worlds.

I imagine the story -
A dinosaur ruled Earth
Revolving like a veined
Pearl, half formed, still
Struggling with its evolution
Then discarding bones

Much later humans spreading
Civilisation, warfare, AIDS
And someone (a poet?) knowing
It can’t last - One day the fever
The growing pains will be over

THE SAFEST PLACE

A bin liner from last year
Imitates a black military hat.
The wind worries a branch.
Aspen, oak, and regimental
Trees blur by - A1, Dere St seems
Strategic, does not compromise.

Ashleigh points out
We’ve been driving so long
On empty, we need to rest.
I agree we need provisions
A new perspective. I pull over

Into a cracked slab lay-by -
The sky drags iron-bottomed
Clouds onto the horizon
Which disgorge flocks.
The wind is deadly silent

As we devour a pack
Of buttered Greggs breadcakes
And then an army bloke on a motorbike
Pulls up, says theres been an incident
The traffic is backing up two miles
To Catterick base and
This is no longer the safest place.

WINTER BLUES

I am barren
My mind is blank,
My daily allowance
Of air commutes
Into hollow lungs.

I feel life’s tension;
The morse of my pulse
Hesitates and flutters

My eyes kill vistas of
Machinery, sunbeams
And hedgerows -
All have turned white

I slouch sixteen pints
Of type A blood
From a house
To a gravel path
Going nowhere like

A river running down
Into a tight spot, a drowned
Waterfall throwing itself
With all its might into
A fleshy wall smashing
Complex cogs and gears.

TV GENESIS

In the beginning was TV –
TV was with God.
God had three
State of Art channels.

All things came into being -
Through his mighty production
There was light, power
Cool adverts

And I say unto you
It is easier for a
Blind man
To tune into colour than
Those without Sky or digital
To enter the Kingdom

COBWEBS AND FIRE

Take a cobweb
In your human hand
Blow your cares away

Take a handful
Of bright red dust
And throw it to the Milky Way

CHRIST WAS ESSENCE

Christ was in essence
A great question -
Shall I shut down
My compassion or should
I open myself up?

We all have a centre
That lights
The World – the show
Of human time, of loving

I must remember
That Christ is in me,
His essence fragrance
From his perfectly
Balanced cross.

THE BEAUTIFUL GAME

If Jesus came back
He’d be a footballer
He’d be a goalie.

Watching demurely
From the uprights
He’d be a quiet presence
In his penalty area

Until the miracle
Of the one-handed save,
His blonde locks dancing
Repeated in slow motion
On Match of the Day

He would be photogenic, a
Brave face amongst flying studs.
At penalties he’d stand stock still,
Good as gold, no sinful
Wobbly Grobbelar legs before
The dive to a pre-destined place

This time he’ll be captain
And sponsored by Channel or Brut
And instead of being crucified
He’ll mount the steps
Of the National Stadium
And lift the World Cup