Istanbul Blue

Istanbul Blue

I looked all over Istanbul for you

From Sultanmeht to Bayoglu

Till I was blue

(Or was it green?)

With things unseen

Or rather what I mean

I heard you

In the courtyard

Fountain fall

Plash of water on stone

A voice in the wind

On the Asian shore

And saw 

Light

Pour and stream 

Through the fig leaves 

Green open hands

And gather 

Break

And inundate

The scarlet silken rose

Immaculate

Illuminate

Emblazon

Iznick sheen

Calligraphic

Blue on blue

And You

Starboard

Tensile

Coursing

On Bosphorus

Lunar gleam

And at the Golden Water’s edge

Where Egyptian merchants tread

And dream

Heard word of you 

Or rather so it seemed

I looked all over Istanbul for you

From Sultanmeht to Bayoglu

Till I was blue

(Or was it Scarlet

Silver, Gold or Green?)

With things unseen

Migration

Migration

There was darkness

So we searched for light

Fumbling for matches

As the wind roared outside

While above and beyond us

At some great height

Migrating cranes

In a straggling flight

Made signs of the stars

And crossed the night

Paddington Basin

Paddington Basin

For him it was all Angels falling through time just trying to drag you down with them in their blackened wings.  Armagiddeon time.  Free fall since the golden days when Bob Marley was on the Labdroke Grove.  It was all a pressure drop.  Gravity was essentially a descent into hell. The point was to resist it.  Push up against the pressure as relentlessly as SIsyphus.  Which was why he often found himself throwing eggs at the police station in Harrow Road for which he was arrested on each occasion.  There had to a better way and one day standing in front of the giant fish tank in Greg’s Pet Emporium he found it.  Weightlessness.  In the gliding fish he saw exactly the kind of free floating grace he was looking for.  Which was why he was in the Canal tonight, drifting on his back in the black water buoyed up by water wings and powered by a pair of bright blue flippers.  All it took was an occasional flap.  He  looked up at the lambent silver moon and the sodium glow of the Westway as he passed beneath its great pillared arc.  Downstream now from Westbourne Park.  He was he was heading for Paddington Basin.  It was important to have an objective. Even in training.  

Shamanistic dusk in W12

Shamanistic Dusk in W12

I sit here in Oil World

Listening to the racket

Late winter sun fall

(Or is it early spring?)

Listening

Deep jet roar

Ambient cars

Siren scream

Our Digital Babel

But listen

Far away and

Further in 

Where you might end

Or might begin

Two robins sing

A blackbird

Chinks like flint

Dusk gathers

In bush and shrub

And all around

Another day

Goes to ground

Pub

Pub

She turned to me and said

‘Its only when they desire you

That you really possess them’

What riches she must have

Her slender hand at her purse

Palming largesse to the barmaid

And bringing the amber nectar to my lips

Stanmer Park

Paul

Remember when

We unfurled sail

The sea a-heave

And silver flecked

Spring tide and the 

Dolphins coursing

Moon and polar star

Who would have thought

We would have come this far

To meet like this now

In the Garden of Mortality

Where everything is fatal

And we must watch each step

But we cannot watch each step

Because we only see things

From a particular point of view

And remember how we flew 

With our arms outstretched

Into that amazement of snow

Across the bowl of the park

And landed cradling 

Sugared coffee in the common room

The sweet sugar of delight

Our turn now

To keep watch at night

And we won't fail

And before cock crow

Will see land

And know

Old Bones

Old Bones

Old Bones don’t ask for nothing more

Fit only for the rats to gnaw

And for the living to ignore

He is the most unwelcome guest

They get up in their very best

But as soon as Old Bones comes round

The place becomes a burying ground

For they are made up all of dust

And live inside a charnel house

And wheedle, caper, prance or pout

They know Old Bones will find them out

Better too leave him all alone

Good riddance to his world of bone

Old Bones just jumps his merry jig

Like a pig dressed in a wig

Why not grab your spade and dig?