Calling in the Powers
(Constructing a Heart)
It is dawn.
I am alone
As a single red Routemaster bus,
Flying, unnoticed, across the blue-
Grey sky above the semi-
Detached with a gentle diesel thrum.
Christmas or the Easter Bunny stands
Beneath a flaking London plane tree,
Milk bottle clinking delight at something completed.
The day comes in to land, takes breath, grieves
Slipping out of the depot,
Slinking along the sidings. This
Never reaches its destination
But nothing does, so that's ok.
To the sea, the Channel,
Where my skin is a salty sea dog,
My muscles, and cockles, a battalion, ready,
And my senses: explorers, fisherfolk, survivors.
Through The Swinge
And the Race
These Bermudan boards keel,
And over the gunwhales comes the smack
Of mackerel, the nausea of D-Day landers
And the celebration of sea gold.
I have power!
At my companion anarchists
Downing a mid-day warrior draught
And spitting unwanted law-
Making into the harbour.
I feel this belly-flood of green,
Think it dark to point of black.
In the flow I would know what this means:
I am mortal.
I can smell the Atlantic from the fertile
Fields up to the clouded heath,
And I would be as desolate, need
To populate the coast with ghost and dragon...
My fear: lime, granite, slate,
I grasp the scales of the beast
Between the snorting wind and wilderness
And ride the swirling cloud over the edge.
Fire spitting in the dark
Of hidden valley night, of winter white,
Of the meaninglessness of cycles
Of settle, depth and melt.
Tread the narrow crest of sorrow,
Driven anger, overhanging
Fear and home to joy. Unbidden,
I sing my highland island song.
I take this old
Of destiny, no matter if th'original
Red sand, the stolen stone, the spoof,
I make my own meaning, crown myself.
Who else could be lord of these isles?
That we have for sure,
This land, this land, this I am,
This green grass beneath my feet,
This carved and twisted stone round which I spiral,
Of all the dwellers of the mounded
Earth, the hidden, behind
A little twist of perception,
The love that gives existence sweetness,
This I am,
Whispers I am perceiving you,
You are my child and I love you.
This wandering, this weather, this
Life laid down and given.
Through the clouds
Is the blue.
Through the blue is the void.
Laid down upon the pavement I look high,
Penetrate the concrete, the gap in the city ceiling,
See through the stars and the falling
I am nothing,
Here, out there, nothing, upon nothing,
Father immaculate space.
I gaze down through great branches, dissipate,
Embrace this absurdity: starlaughter.
Be well, through intergalactic emptiness,
The interstellar void, the interplanetary realm
Of invisible gods. I know it in my intercity
Window seat vacancy and in between each dot of empty stuff.
As the glacier
Withdraws and welcomes my kin
To its carving, I become alive,
I light fires, hunt bison,
Am bison, sacred, dead, and alive.
Come my brethren
With flint and seed and crucible:
Horse-riders, carvers of plate and cross and cup.
Upon the shore, turn heads to horizons,
Lift great grins and great arms to the dancing hills
Where I hold this circle of space and time between nothing