open mic poetry readings at Slam Dunk, Hastings, Sussex
Restless early autumn twilight opens
Full of blue-cold shadows and small memories of regret.
Scattered dark silhouettes of birds on thin lines,
Stretched to breaking point,
Waiting, with migrating agitation.
We arrived here in slipping rain,
Sliding down the time left
With less and less grip on cold reality,
Holding hard to this delicate line
Carved into an ageing story.
In the face of desperate odds and accidents
waiting to happen
There is nothing to do but live fiercely
and dance to the one,
in this gap between the worlds.
It is not
It is not about getting the perfect sunrise
In the best frame of reference
So your day becomes the best of all days.
It is not about another place where you want to be.
It is not about the light falling between the turning leaves,
The far away call of the sea,
The blue sky, honey warm song of it all.
Every moment will happen anyway
Without a single movement from you or me.
We just need to be awake to the possibilities of anything.
This will happen
In each deep breath,
Swelling each moment to burst
With whatever surge of Life there is in you,
Without doing anything at all.
The most important thing
Is not to get tangled
In the rising tide of everything.
The vital element
Is that pause,
Where all the silence
And dangerous unknowns
Lie waiting patiently,
for your revelation
Just before the next wave
A dawn tide of commuters
Flotsam drift onto the wet platform.
The wave falls.
Drags every last, lost one of them
Into the grey deep.
They don’t make a sound
As the water curls over every attempt to escape,
Drowning every dream,
drowning every hope.
Don’t tell me
You know what you are doing
With your head full of unreasonable behaviour
And never endings.
It's all sound and fury around the craggy rocks,
It's all in the wind and whispering,
Your winter-worn out stories,
Your articulate arrangements.
Time is diminishing us.
Cut loose the tangled cords,
Burn the consequences.
But tell me now
Before you leave again,
Why have we overlapped and stumbled
Across the same lines
Over and over?
I lose words now.
They slip between pauses,
Hide between shadows and doubt.
I have never quite landed home with myself.
Never quite found the sound that says the word
Why is there this restless ache
Inside this frame I have shaped so longingly?
Why is there no home-coming of acceptance,
No single shape of sound
That sings our broken hearts
to heal and love again?
Splashes of yellow shades
Litter the landscape.
A bright blue swipe of bench
Sits proud as you like
Against the fall of autumn light.
I have sat here before,
Searching for meaning;
in the shape of the smallest of sounds,
In the flicker of patterns
across well-worn behaviours.
And you have sat with me,
Sharing your failed relationships with life.
Sharing your desperate need
to keep fighting the odds,
to keep demanding your place
in the impossible scheme of all dreams.