Owthorpe

Owthorpe

Bloß nicht alt werden!

"Not Tired of the Brilliance of Cities
I would be prepared to say on TV
I too found love in Elevator Shoes
In High Street Shops with the
Fresh Air of Charity
On the Roads of Righteuousness
Walk Straight With Stoop Into The
Oxfam Shops Of the Free World* etc.”

17th November 2011

The Opening of the A46 Motorway 2011

Notes

Boundary Road, Redmile, Two Tawny Owl's Strike
(young left in nest) Roman Road neccessary rises
cut retouched grantham canal shored up invert
drain quick flying etc tbc

Tollerton

Gotham Pastures

Tollerton Airport Apron (Revisited)

Verse 1

I am too big for the front room, see,
Afraid of The Mirror.
And methodically take off my head,
Placing it on the silver elliptic tray.
But it was only ‘ablenkung’*

Why,yesterday, Old Nick
Played a record of loneliness to me.
Then, just for one moment,
I see myself under the bridge,
Exactly between cities.

Then costumed, from Newtown, see.
‘abgelenkt’, you were,
Transparent bodies
In you, below the belt,
A poison 'gift',

‘A Life Change’

Verse 2

Now I am,
Stern on the wings of an angel,
Heading for the nearest church,
For Martyrdom, on the guest list.
The Bright way to Stations,

To triangles, symbols see,
Of birds, beliefs and Indians.
Above and below the belt,
Revelations, have become so many,
I can hardly keep up.

Verse 3

Like seeing Talacre and the last party.
Just now I stepped into heaven,
Flourished where soil was:
New crop,
All most ready.

Treading the paths,
Of a Doppelgänger.
A Doppelgänger,
In Alcohol Dreams.

Pace the earth cracked,
As a Fallen Shepherd, fall
Across the drain, to
Gaze on the Lone Pike.

Verse 4

Before television, see,
All they had was Rainbows,
A kind of tragic joke,
Now framing Bassingfield field.

In 3D,see,
Rain spots,
A black apron,
Run away.

Emerge then from The Pillbox,
Of windows and rifles,
Going Out to the Light:
Like something missing in a wallet.


26th December, 2005 (Revised, 20th, November, 2009,)

‘ablenkung’* deviance

Schlachtensee

Schlachtensee

The winter flight now over,
I am bound for the frozen see.
Figures of Ice, gliding,
In the persistent evening chill
Change tack towards the station.
The heat sinking,
Through No Man’s Land
Past heaped snow
In to East Berlin & out again.
On middle Sunday,
Then habitually alone,
Aware of the island now
Its flirting scale and diving parts
A natural slope
Designed on high.
This is holy to aliens
Ay!, and metaphysical
Where gravity riddles.
At obscure daytimes,
When souls are notched,
Persuing the falling sun.
Languishing as the day’s palours began.
The shadow-less black swan,
Glides in then out,
Musing on the certainty:
Of leaving.
The bathers
Slowed down to a repose,
As others worked,
The waves brush strokes,
Of a picture.
From gloomy Sonnenallee,
To sweet water,
Then glide over to Rehwiese,
To find the border and gypsies gone.
Now the Wansee train,
Cuts the forest,
Like a fire sword.
Then there was no summer to speak of.
In mediums of light and air,
In lines under, on - Above.
In the vertical Sacrow forest.
To winter swimming in the black night.

Rewritten 11th December 2008

Brighton

Brighton

One exit

No stations south,
No further southern counties,
On High white shelves,
Worn Out in Flats,
From Clean White Collapses.

I passed here years ago.
'In a world of wind and cloud',
These massive stairs,
The only exit.

Fields end spliced,
Like torn adverts.

The rhyming unheard of
Above the sea's seathing.

Edges slip uniformly,
Independent of clouds.

The White Bird passes.

The Isle of Wight then:
In miniature,
Overlooks the Mainland's
New edge.

On Solent apron,
Lapped by waves,
Two beached craft still:
Not to enjoy summer.

Seaside towns:
Emptiness links lagoons:
Close Nightly.

In Ventnor.
Enter in the hotel room.
When the radio mast gets hit:In Kodak.
'you took no notice'.

On Winchelsea Beach,
A woman, rushed me said she
near disappeared into quicksand.

I went on to admire
Sea defences at Dymechurch,
Where God and Nature
Created derelict perfection.

24th January 2009

Eltham Palace Woolwich Ferry

Woolwich

Down from the hill
Towards the bridge
The common Queen
Asks me to leave her ship
Repulse War Spite
And narrow dead ends

30th January 2002

View From Normanton Church Rutland Water

Bosworth Field

Fell field
I, a child
Made your death my own
To fall,
To save you, from you
Hell man,
I've seen perfect fields
Past your dream of hills
Rope and lovely bridges
Flat canals, shored up
Fed crimson from Bosworth Field
Past the gym clothed
Milky white thighs
And land girls
Trip me with their narrow thoughts
Pause, at St. Marys Church
Among child graves
And rain sheds
Stride
Like a praying mother
Smaller Empires
Left throne
Breeze in
Like a missile
Unable to give one jot
Metronome offspring
Run through
Networks of hell under us
Awake!
Will your stomach stand
Your final day?
Out of nowhere,
In the marble afternoon

24 August 2005(Re-written 10th December 2006)