foggisan

Frame

Lateral imposition of a calculated

Force applied tangentially whilst

Simultaneously describing an

Extended arc in a vertical

Plane, thereby imparting a

Rotation effect designed to

Generate a frictional resistance to

The kinetic momentum in one plane

And redirect the mass through a

Parabola along a different plane

Towards a fixed point

Whereupon

All the pins

Fall over.

Strike!

Complications

Her world softly, silently

Implodes, as the import of

The doctor's words, delivered in

Quietly apologetic tones, echoes

Down the thousand mile

Corridor that has opened

In her breast. Images of

Wedding day dances and

Cinema trips, holidays by

The sea and the time they

Got caught in a cloudburst

While walking in the hills.

A nurse hovers in the

Background, holding a board

For the doctor to sign

As all around, unheard, the hospital

Hums, buzzes and clatters

Unknowing and busy while

She falls forever.

A shopping shark shimmers

In the city centre seize

Picking off the bargains

With a practised, fluid ease

Plastic card whispers

As designer bags fill

Parades her Prada handbag

Like a hunter with his kill

A Starbucks and a breather

On the corner of the square

Sips a skinny latte

And restyles a wayward hair

Then uncurls from her table

Like a languid, waking cat

Adjusts her perfect hemline

Shakes a sunbeam from her hat

So graceful on stilleto heels

She negotiates the square

The minnows part and shoal around

Parfum, lingers, on the air.

Away in the corner

Pulled into a ball

A tight knot of pain

With his head on the wall

(A tear demands to be seen)

The language of learning

Is passing him by

In shame at his pain

He's refusing to cry

(It squeezes through tight shut eyes)

Jumbled impressions

Of numbers and sounds

Questions and theories

And words turning round

{Falling softly to the floor}

Unnoticed he suffers

A personal hell

Begging salvation

From a mid-morning bell

(To reflect November skies)

Bells ringing!

Hearts singing!

Stampede at the door.

And the teacher sits and puzzles

Over splash marks

On the floor.

The tree was tired

And found it easier to let go

Than hold on.

The leaves, abandoned, died.

Falling in their thousands

They gathered in drifts,

Blown in the wind,

Settling finally in the rain.

Returning to the soil from whence they came.

The tree, meanwhile, rested.

Until, with Spring, it woke,

Gathered the leaves into it again

And greeted the sun with new vigour,

The leaves gloried in the warmth and light.

And, day by day,

The world turned.

As it should.

I saw two young girls, giggling,

Comparing carrots to I don't know what.

A man passes me in a hurry,

Lines of concentration on his brow,

Swirls of anxiety in his wake,

While a silver haired old lady

Peruses the wine labels, half smiling.

I wonder if she's planning a romantic dinner.

Two small children pass in a cloud of laughs,

Ignoring the cries of a harried mother

And hiding round the corner of the bread rolls.

Waiting breathlessly, wide eyed, grinning.

A pair of teenagers lounge studiously,

Studying the CD racks with one eye

And a couple of girls with the other,

Exuding nonchalance and pheremones.

People in shop uniforms bustle,

Filling shelves, sweeping, giving directions

With fixed grins, genuine grins, warm smiles,

An occasional grimace.

White, black, brown, yellow,

They're all here, and then gone again,

Replaced minute by minute.

Where do they come from?

Where do they go?

What do they do, think, want, dislike?

How many are saints, sinners, lunatics?

Are any of them aware of me? Each other?

Oh, my line is moving,

Got to go

I saw two young girls, giggling,

Comparing carrots to I don't know what.

A man passes me in a hurry,

Lines of concentration on his brow,

Swirls of anxiety in his wake,

While a silver haired old lady

Peruses the wine labels, half smiling.

I wonder if she's planning a romantic dinner.

Two small children pass in a cloud of laughs,

Ignoring the cries of a harried mother

And hiding round the corner of the bread rolls.

Waiting breathlessly, wide eyed, grinning.

A pair of teenagers lounge studiously,

Studying the CD racks with one eye

And a couple of girls with the other,

Exuding nonchalance and pheremones.

People in shop uniforms bustle,

Filling shelves, sweeping, giving directions

With fixed grins, genuine grins, warm smiles,

An occasional grimace.

White, black, brown, yellow,

They're all here, and then gone again,

Replaced minute by minute.

Where do they come from?

Where do they go?

What do they do, think, want, dislike?

How many are saints, sinners, lunatics?

Are any of them aware of me? Each other?

Oh, my line is moving,

Got to go.

With a wistful smile

She deftly tucks the blanket in,

Whispering as she does so,

"There, sweetheart, there."

Litter chatters along the road,

Needing to be somewhere else.

The baby sleeps for now,

Oblivious to the street wind

And her mother's quiet struggle.

Stalking the sales, special offers,

Trying to find ends to make meet

Maybe get ahead of the game

Not just make it to payday.

Around her the City pulsates,

A steel, stone and wire leviathan

Devoid of emotion, warmth, heart.

It breathes, dead exhalations of fumes,

Smoke and remains of nightclub dreams.

She pulls her collar tight

Shoulders her bag and heads for home.

Car horns blare and engines hum.

Maybe tomorrow,

Maybe....

Three hundred and twenty years in the making.

Lovers have met

Battles been fought, won and lost

And the afternoon heat

Has been endured here.

The King of the castle triumphed-

And was duly deposed here

Armies seen off

Defenders overwhelmed.

An enemy base

A home sanctuary.

Hitching post

Rendezvous, spaceship and monkey bars

Oh, and cuckoos have been heard here.

Countless hands, feet and tired posteriors have left their mark.

And it has left a mark in my heart, here.

The old tree trunk in the park.

Time flows down the street

Sighing. Newspapers eddy

Circling along the shopfront

And catching on the bolts

That hold the ply-boards in place.

An aerosol affidavit proclaims

Denny's love for Mandy

While litter bins regurgitate

Styrofoam and burger wrappers

From last nights passing revellers.

Diesel rainbows dance the gutters

Bringing colour to the day

Amidst the concrete and decay.

A dog waters the lamp post

Whilst wind-moans hang around the

Telephone lines and chain-link

Remembering other days.

Either side of the street

The buildings' shoulders

Droop in the afternoon,

Waiting

Waiting......

Threadbare mists advance

Infiltrating the treeline

Creating a landscape of wraiths,

Spectres, tree-skeletons.

A muslin veil over

A half-world of

Soft shadows and

Sensed shapes,

Frost-rimed ephemera..

Fog flows up the valley

On ponderous lion's paws

A visual avalanche

Of silent white

Pillowed on the land

Sound and vibrancy

Choked off, stymied,

Hidden from view

In a sepulchre of

Swirling purest samite.

Timeless limbo

Holding off the sun

Until the light fades

And ice forms.

Winter reigns.

Floating, it seems

On a hot desert wind

Silent.

Falling to the ground

There to bloom

In brightest yellow

Shot through with streaks

Of red and orange.

Beauty in the midst

Of austerity.

The observer is taken

By the spectacle

And smiles.

"Zero, this is Tango Three Zero,

Target destroyed. Over."

"Roger, Tango Three Zero,

Return to base. Out."

" Roger, ETA one hour. Out."

Smoke follows the blooms.

Letters to families

Will follow the smoke.

All you Martians might be interested in the headlines of today's newspaper here in England.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/

PUSHING

Gaze forward

Beyond the clock

Leave now behind

And feel the push

The living urge

To reach up and see

The light

Feel the power

The immensity of it

And hold, hold the moment

Bring it back, back, back

To now, here.

See the miracle

In your hand

A seed.

Pushing

Pushing.....

GLINT

I see myself

Differently, with

The world wrapped round

As a fishes eye

Brightly,sharp-lined

And glinting; edged.

An evolving, elliptical

Self contained

Rolling world, and then

Gone. Breezed away

On a wind-whim.

Window-rain.

The wind circles

Waiting in the branches

To sweep the stones

Clear of leaves

When I depart.

For now though,

It shows respect

As do I.

Respect for a life

A time and love

And the heartprint

You left behind.

In the sunlight

A tear, falling

A gift of thanks

For being

Rest in peace.

My eyes have gone spottery

I'm feeling all tottery

Surrounded by a coterie

(Like pots in a pottery

Or money in a lottery)

Of poems by Otteri!

I'm joking, don't take a pot at me!

Lines on paper shift

To marks on the ground to

Concrete on grass to

Blot on the landscape to

Lines on paper to

Whom it may concern.....

Respect is value

Gleaned from your actions and thoughts

The wages of worth.

I took my daughter to a Christingle service last Sunday because it's a special one for the children that they all enjoy and I won't let my feelings about the church ruin my kids' enjoyment of Christmas at 6 years of age.

The vicar talked of the 'Blood of Christ sacrificed for our salvation'.

I thought ....OK, an omnipotent Being sits on his cloud and is jarred off at the human race (his pets/toys/proteges etc.) and feels they have been bad. REALLY bad. So bad they are never going to get into heaven unless they are forgiven and to get that they need to do some serious 'sorry work'.

He decides to send Number One Son down to them to preach the Good Word of love, peace, honour and respect and low carbon footprint etc. The REALLY bad human race listen to his Son and decide he's a troublemaker. Not content with a few whip lashes or a mild stoning they nail him to a tree and stick a bloody great spear in him. Dead.

Now, if we are to believe the Bible ( The so-called word of the Big Man Himself) this made everything OK.

'GOD' then felt that the humans had 'Made Up For Their Transgressions' and could now be admitted to His Heaven Club.

By murdering His Son.

Right.

Is it me or can anyone see a teeny-weeny little flaw in this thinking?

Or am I missing something?

I know there are some True Believers out there with an IQ of 130+ capable of Critical Thinking Skills, let's hear from you. (My IQ is 143 in case you ask.)