A Taste Of Gasoline....

Do Cows Spoon in the Dark?

Driving fast, past blurs of black, brown and white
Splats, I wonder if cows crave Prozac?
No anoraks, wellies, small umbrellas.
Just a stare ahead and sometimes to one side.
An occasional chew and down it comes,
Vertical rain bouncing on moccasin bare backs,
Streaming down venisonal fragile, bent bones.
Far off mooing oft mistaken for groans

Alone in the black, a touch on the knee,
Do scared cows spoon when no ones there to see?
Nibbling small ears clamped with cardboard tags.
Forgetting for now how their belly sags
Red horror dreams, the futures not far.
Love’s final promise, the Abattoir.

*

So we decided to stay together

So we decided to stay together
Not cry and part and regret
Our roads remained conjoined
Not parting towards separate sunsets
We glued that which was broke
Instead of settling debts and gently
handing back keys.
We dived out of the eye of the storm
At first swirling, hands gripping hands
And landed bruised, hurt, damaged
Yet together.

*

Friday

The end of the week
The day for fish
Clocking off at five
The pay packet in hand

The buzz of the night
Which uncast character
In this unwritten play
Will sing with me?

*

Red

I like red, not the colour but the word.
I like the word that rhymes with read
And dead, and bed.
I like red as it hides within blood
And its skies at night,
when red, delights men in fields.
I like red for flying the flag
And standing tall
And for staining roses
And bloodied noses.

*

A day off

As you lie, waiting for a final breath.
Recall that blue-skied day,
When the cool morning sun
Promised fresh river breezes
And oars dipped into honey.
If you have one regret
Don’t make it that on that glistening day
Work called out and gripped your soul.

*

Hobby

Watching TV was his hobby
He learnt all that he spoke about
He told us, from watching TV
Ask me anything he said and I can
Disclose answers as proposed by
Watching all that I have, on TV.
So we asked, one by one
And he answered as he had seen
By watching everything on TV.
And then someone asked,
What does the summer smell like?
And he answered,
That episode hasn’t been shown yet
On TV.

*

Je Ne Regrette Rhiana

It was all taboo
You, me, the world.
Paths crossing at unavoidable times.
And as the moment passed
Falling down like heavy rope,
We grabbed at it
Burning our hands,
Blistering the memories left behind,
That only time’s soothing lotion heals.

*

Eight miles High

Driving through France and thinking
Not of first or second world wars
But of future, of today, of now.
My vision is linked by eight miles of beauty
Holding hands almost, the finger tips swirling
Plucking invisible forms from nowhere
These modern wind catchers are reminders
Of how we should have been.

*

The Origin of My Species

When I die it will be the start of something
A start of the fading memory of me.
An evaporation of our love
That we carried together and then there was just me.
It will be the start of our children
Untying the boat and pushing us out to sea.
The start of occasional sadness for friends whom we
Can no longer reach

Of repainting walls in our once loved house.
Of pausing over photographs, smiling, smiling.
And while I know lights will be turned off
the origin of my death will be marked,
by that deep reasonance within my children's soul.

*