If you find more than meets the eye, keep it in mind.

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MORE THAN
MEETS THE EYE

1/

Midnight on the nocturnal thoroughfare,
I saw all the painted faces there
Lost! Behind digital instruments they hide,
Behind exclusive LCD monitors
They were blind.
Among 100 mutual friends they forgot
The smooth touch of the sensitive
Membrane holding this show together and apart.
With muffled hearts they recorded
Dumb expression and fed greedy palms
By misguised fantasies published in papers
Never printed and half read.
They become half human, half short-wave receiver,
Unquestioning believers of yesterday’s virtual trend.
Like canned worms they twist and bend,
Evading the natural code which deserves
Such subterranean splendour. Half-hearts linger
In static gloom and peel from each other
As stung lovers on a night otherwise
Crystal and fair.
2/

I remember when home was a river,
With rocks for castle walls which keep the heat
When night’s pale face reflected shimmers
In perfect pools as clear as they are deep.
I remember when home was a river
Whose crystal spirit flowed from melted snow -
That pure crust that crowned the mountain silver
And in the sunlight bleeds a river gold.

And I remember being swept down-stream,
Away from Eden to the shores of men.
The melody that spills between the hills
(Drowned by the sea’s hydraulic harmony)
Accompanied me on the road again
As I approached the ever-looming mills.
3/

Place de la République, 21.11.2015

Her head tilts back to face the sharp November rain
To wash the lines of loss that cross her cheeks again.
Her simple song gives voice to silent sentiments
Which, cast in bronze, belong to lips of Marianne.
The congregation waits while idol reigns above
To hear the tender tremor of this mourning dove.
And bouquets line the street beneath the Tricolore,
That for a twist of fate would hang for me or her.

Now darkness grasps the sky as tribute candles gasp,
We cry tonight for lives that bullets prove can’t last.
They stand alone with single hands suspended spare,
That for a partner clasps its counterpart in prayer.
When all is said and sung we’ll need Amazing Grace
To bear the burden of this monumental waste.
Notes

I took the accompanying photograph eight days after the November 13th attacks in Paris. In recognition of the national sense of loss I have written in alexandrines – typical of French verse.

Marianne is the central statue of the square. Symbolic of peace, her pedestal is inscribed with the three values core to the French constitution: Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité.

A ‘mourning dove’ is a brown dove.

Tricolore is another triptych central to France’s national identity. It is their three-striped flag.
4/

At 6 o'clock when I woke up the rain
Had passed and gutters sang of clearer skies.
My still wet window split tentative rays
And threw the softer tones into my eyes.
I brush the April fog from lowered lids
And leave the shaded dreams in lifeless sheets -
The promises that never pierce my lips,
Another day to fall beneath my feet.

This moment's milky calm precedes 18
Hours more. A double shift to pay the rent
Then home for toast and orange label beans,
Just 30p repays the effort spent.
As curtained houses glow with bedside lights
Day's labours bring the bliss of silent nights.

5/

This dayglo heart humming within a circle of stone.
The drum-beat drone promises primal incantations
Until and after sunrise bleeds red across the summer sky.
The music in their minds released live,
Amplified by one hundred thousand souls singing in sync.
The echoes call from here to home, permeating lasers and smoke,
Campfires and sacrificial pyres, brought to life dancing…
We’re flesh and bone!
And did you see the Roman candles defy the dark?
With phosphor sparks they traced across the marine expanse,
Spinning in infinity they propel towards tomorrow.
And today sinks deep into the pool of time passed as we unravel in the revelry,
Cast upon this stage of celebration to bask in an electric empire.
This is it! Neon strips throw mouthed messages from our lips to the walls.
Gypsy eyes gleam between tepees and paper lanterns flush midnight’s canvas with mellow tones.
The squeal of rubber boots melts into unpasteurized mud.
Rivers of unsanitised excitement swell between pumping speaker systems
Which choreograph this miraculous mirage. A barrage of bass assaults the diaphragm,
Accompanied by Morse strobe warnings.

Meanwhile a canvas city spreads around arenas,
Unbridled by hedgerows and obliged to end only at a distant frontier far from the action.
Strewn about burnt out barbecues and adorned in crushed beer tins,
Bodies lounge in broken down chairs,
Reminiscing over chances made and missed, games played, Yesterday.
These plastic palaces emerge from morning mist,
Marked with regal banners and kites suspended perpendicular from graphite poles.
Dream catchers and totems preside over the tribes.

And what of next year?
How can the glory of a midsummer’s dream be replicated
Among mundane deadlines and tame bedtimes?
What if this wave never finds its shore?
If the saturated scene remains undiluted by daylight dawning?

But Monday blues creep across the camp, condensing like
The morning dew to dampen the fiesta.
Soon the symptoms of sobriety stir us from such reveries.
The troops trudge across soft fields leaving all invaluables for… next time?
Now begins the race for the roads.
Statues bedraggled and branded on their feet stagger forward before sleep overtakes them.
Last night’s fantasy exchanged for a bed; the aspirations traded for photographs;
Mud for dust.

A prismatic skeleton cradled in a valley.
An Eastern breeze redeems the hallowed land.
Timeless and waiting, rolling meadows green stretch far away.