ONLY THE RAIN

From rafters of memory
And deep grim lodges
Housed in siblings’ far off game chambers
Comes the rain, oh Lord
And it reflects my tears,which originally grew in mirrors
Oh windows of illusion

And the rain fell, like ballbearings on a roulette wheel
Eliminating the future
And I saw ghosts; they were children
Running through a cedar boulevard
Into a wood
They came to a gate and looked inside. It was raining
And they heard a soft moaning, warm and plural

And the rain fell; on the lake, in the vast garden
Faster and faster. It was dark.
Suddenly children were everywhere
Gliding along the lake, running through the trees
The stars arranged themselves like an illuminated skipping rope
The trees were rich and high, and mingled with the stars
As jewels complement skin

Come, jump across the lake!
Into the branches!
Higher than the clouds!

Let the rain fall;
From secret passageways
And oak casements come these spirits
Out of their sleepy silver webs
They play with the forgotten animals at night
And patter on our windows when we sleep
Only the rain has such soft fingers
Only the rain

MIRACULA

a representation
            of a butterfly
            discovered
            in a medieval chapel
            in Italy-
                       its wings painted
            a lustrous red
                        flew suddenly
                        from
                        the gentle hands
                        of a representation
                        of an elderly priest-
                         within the fresco
It alighted
            Upon the gentle hands
                        Of a young girl
            who was within the
            chapel, imagining
                                    the tender kisses
                        of her beloved

An eternity passed

and for a moment
                        the butterfly
                                      spiralled and danced
                        in the serene air
    falling again into the father’s hands - all was silent

the girl shed tears,
                        clasping imaginings – in her knuckles,
and fell to the dust, laughing-
                                                           noticing, suddenly upon
                        the impregnable earth, a single tear of lustrous red.

WINGS AGAINST THE SUN

In your eyes appear the mystic roses
Of spring
Inspiring songs
Of approaching summer

Many years ago
The spring
Even the spring
Offered black orchids
Of strange kind

When night falls
When doves of night call
Haunting me
Haunting me

We listen to the mist
Knowing we rest
Pale,
No longer burning;
Wings against the sun

On your lips I sense the silent whisper of love
Unspoken words
For the singing of summer

DAWN LAMENT

In the golden night
The tuneful hours slumber.

One eye continually alert,
The chalk white Manx
             Stands;
             Idol-like,
             Gaunt

The nightingale
Plucks golden feathers
From the diurnal East,

Weeping madrigals
                        Far into dawn.

            Throughout the angular
                        Firmament -
Nebulous rivers -
                        Travel,
            Spilling onto the clay earth.

The mists contain the scent

Of Alban wine

GHOST

Strange ghost –
        modest figurehead
                         of this haunted mansion
      your coat
                         is woven -
                                 of black velvet -
     and your fingers
                      are incredible
                miraculous hands,
                        marble white,   
                        -     explaining -
                                  dumbly,
                                the complexities
                                    of perfect music

you chill us,
            -   we look blindly,
                 in childish perfection
                         in your beautiful
                           and chill silence

you have taught us -
         the melodies
          of classical marble,
            and the silent
                   well
   of your exquisite compositions
          remains
                   in my soul - and in my eyes

UNTITLED

When the lead machine looms
With vast whisperings
It claims
I AM
And it is a factory
With ancient ghosts in its thunderous workings

I attempt prayer,
But the machine claims
I created you
I am uncreate
I am the first reason and the last
I am the dark womb
Blood black

Cry unto me
For where I am not
You are not
I am
Creator of night

Where I am not
You are not.

Your heart is on my altar
My altar is darkness
A black granite plateau
Your innermost workings
Are mine

Your soul is in my name
I seal it,
Not with words,
For I am before words
I seal it with my dark essence
I eclipse your queries
Light is not yours

I AM
YOU ARE NOT
Your name is colourless
Yours is the court void of appeal

A LOVE SONG TO CLAIR

You are a foreign city,
            Where rose petals fall,
            Whispering love

                        The gentle children
                                     of God
                       
                        See reflected in your eyes

                                Charity
                                   and
                                   Faith

                        Your soul........
                                                 is a serene and
                                                 splendid river

                                Silent
                                and
                                Eternal

                        Chanting softly -
                                                    and sweetly,

                                        You perceive the causes
                                                                        and effects

CHRISTOS

Christos.
       O Rose   
       O fire
                    Splendid deity -
       Sweetest resting place
               and solace
               of my heart

               Truly
               The mystic garland
               I see -
                            In the agony
                            Of the mother
    - and the tenuous limbs
                                        of the kid

                O Christos
                O Rose
                O fire
                                O solace
                                Of my heart