Closer To Home
The stark hard truth melts into seasonal greetings
as prize-winning tales endlessly told in gamin form
lurch the seed-thought through empty space
into soil partly tended yet prosaically studied
by scholarly minds right on the mark
chosen for their hilarity beyond words
yet intimate in their lent cross-hatched tone.
Ardvaark the perennial flight
higher now than the slipstream
crossing oceans of sylph-engendered sky
coming through to meet populations
stranded for a while
waiting for their release.
Lonely plover stalking,
keeping wise within the humourless brogue
and undertaking new ways of leaving.
Story-tellers again seeing
and believing the market-driven pleasures
open-ended in their ecstasy
ravaged by cumulatives bench-marks
notched and hammered into place.
half-past the time for reversing roles
magnetised by delight.
Then they came in greater numbers
pleading for dismemberment of the host.
Closer to home sits the rich
rowing perhaps against the tide
with wider deeper oar-strokes
finding the vein of gold in the midst of the river.
Perhaps the proof comes
when underneath the seat the cat sleeps
and the post is opened to reveal an invitation
written by hand in Rosicrucian ink
and parting from the incidental
tithes no longer in demand
the freer hand-shake and warm embrace
looks like welcoming back to known parties
strewn with emblems of disenchantment,
And so comes the return to open-plan consciousness
breath entering all spaces,
dislosed and undislcosed
populated and emphatic
verdant and sparse.
And in that inhalation
comes the breeze sweetly relieved.