Big man rides a chimney up a crowded street. Slow man rings
the bell. “Oh Yeah! Oh Yeah!” The mayor in chains & furs.
Three cornered feathered heads nod in solemn procession.
The choir follow, full throated in festive song, satisfied.
The Donkey & the rider next & the guide in robes as children.
The “oohs & ahhhs” to see such sweet naiveté untarnished.
And close behind, the town undertaker waves from Santa’s
sleigh, pulled by a feared-up reindeer, who’s hooves beat
a groove on the freezing, rain-soaked black-top.
Marking time for a cloud of harlequin drummers.
Cinnamon Apple, Mulled wine, Burger, Fries & Toffee Apple.
Mugs of steaming tea clutched between mittened fingers.
Typing fast tea, porridge, in silence on the roof of the Emerald City. Later cruising the music shops of Denmark street incognito buying toys for making noise – recognised as someone I used to be. Harvesting words out of the aether for future-mouth to sing.
CLOUD LIKE A PIG:
“Look, a cloud like a pig with wings!” she said, smiling,
radiant, brighter than the sky. It felt strange to be laughing
after months of tears,driving into sunrise like waking from
a nightmare. There in the car, hands on the wheel for real,
I was a kid again believing pigs really could fly.
MOON ON A STICK:
A full one floats behind clotted cloud ringed in rainbow hews.
Knuckles & knees freeze, parked up, concealed between the
fields at the edge of town. Flicking between stations,
turning the engine over to reheat exposed extremities.
Tonight the radio sounds best barely audible.
A fluttering on the airwaves between plumes of breath.
Weird, waking up with a twinge of the fears. Clear that the head
is somewhere up the road than right here where it should be.
Woke up with them for years. Every day riddled with the stuff.
Been gone for years. Weird to find it here on the pillow as I wake.
What’s that about? One foot & then the other. Love & compassion.
YOU DO SCRIBE:
Transcribing lyrics from the album for rehearsal.
Eating porridge in the mist at sunrise behind the edge of time.
Parked up on a hill overlooking the world to watch the sunrise.
Day-glow runners, lycra cyclists, super-speed machine pollution.
Idyllic vistas clog with violent colours. We sit, with the engine
off watching birds turn circus tricks in the hedge.