Wednesday, 27 April 2011

Time's Exhaust

picture by Rod Scneider

Weekend gone,
sat in garden as sparks flew
in distant city
sun out, minding it's own business
neighbour shouted across the wall
"lovely weather, mate
especially if your not working"
" Yeah " I sighed
turned my trowel in rich earth,
turning wilderness into something
deeper still,
tearing down walls,
finding immediacy,
even when lost.
Underneath a thousand currents
where nurtured moss
embraced rocks and stones.
Rested in  the shadows of  infinite,
where future's nourishment
knows words and language
can get  tangled up in thorns.
In former days of work slavery
obstacles galore fed on emptiness,
digging now for survival
belief in
nature's power is definite.
Every word , a seed of tomorrow's breath,
where time exhausts
but air is full of living dust
and the careless  delay of language
echoes across the centuries
dribbles and falls asleep .  
And  some  say ,
with william and Kate,
we will see history that we will all remember
when the clocks stop
or yet  another sychopantic yawn.        

1 comment:

  1. All work, has led to wars, and all wars have led back to work, how do we kill this cycle, rather than each other. "love seems" not to be there food , but the love of power, a sour dessert, from the humanitarian love that war inspires, to the totalitarian phase.xx