22 May 2009 am pm

am

a one metre monitor lizard came out
cracking the dry leaf

tongue flicking in out, jabbing the air
trying to catch what it might eat

skin patchy, like an off yellow fungi on a grey tree
walking in the way of a new ballerina

by new chopped papaya tree
pile of dry grass, then away

I thought I might chop an apple
but that would take too long

I call out; frozen, watching, waiting
then away

pm

three agitating sparrows perch
below the air-con unit
on the water pipe

thunder beginning to timpani a way
to a place away
though quite bright, the rain will come

her orange baju kurung hanging
oozing in the air, the new cut garden
waiting for night

two sparrows pick, peck below;
the tree warming up for the rain

Three men in a pub

a jar of ale, a jar of ale, that’s what I like, a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, a man’s good mate, a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, there’s nothing like a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, after work, a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, full gold mug, a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, amber glass, a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, down in one, my jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, top it up, a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, how many’s that, two jars of ale?
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, tastes so good, this jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, cools my throat, this jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, nowt so fresh as a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, hullo, lad, any news,
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, come and sink a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, that’s much better, a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, how many’s that, three jars of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, that feels good, a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, evening cheer, a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, warming up, a jar of ale
a jar of ale, a jar of ale, lost track of how many jars of ale

clippit has a beer
using pen to scratch nose
then tries to peer
at a jar
that seems so far
away

it looks like you’re writing a letter
would you like help..
clear off now, you paperclip male
or I’ll drown you in the jar of ale

if you think this is too long, the story of the jar of ale
you’re fortunate it wasn’t
a jar of Adnam’s original oak cask mellowed traditional Suffolk bitter


or you’d be here for the week…

Prime image in three / hazy afternoon

I woke about four thirty pm
catching the garden in prime number beauty
of eighty three percent bright magnetism

the matt green of papaya and bamboo
the gloss of the yellow flower
the green and purple of the unknown one

a young squirrel came to bounce
through three centimetre grass, then
up a young papaya tree, until spotting its mate

a wary bird ran away in half flapping terror
a mynah flew past, flecks of colour in the air
a cicak zipping by window water plant

completing the prime image

hazy afternoon

1 April 2009

hear time go on and on, tick, tock
chattering bird or two near
whishing of ironing water there

creaking of light wooden chair
tapping of computer key here
banging of steaming fish wok

waiting to eat, two fifteen
rucking hunger hitting
me

ah, amah;
with fish, green leaf, stem crunch
I take water in a cut-price gift mug

no wonder the birds here go ‘cheap, cheap’

Two women in a place not here

1 Jazz bar

the raindrops that fall in the light of the night
are like the tears of love when the autumn kicks in;
to a woman, the words and tune, they’re sunset bright
to let a late night loving come, place a bet, we will win

the tree, the flower might sway in the night air
but I only want to be in motion with you, the time when I
know you gaze at early morning legs, you touch my hair
to watch the morning change, the rain of the waning night go by

2 Concert

the energy and pace of nature are beginning to clash
the rain is beating on a desolate landscape of exposed igneous rock
the typhoon is blasting the coast
writhing in agony, cutting and opening

ripping out the interior

in the desert, the abrasion of weathering
is scratching away at a million rock surfaces of quartz
in the snow-covered mountains, the winds tear at the atmosphere
the avalanches break anything in their way

ripping out the interior

Asia to Africa - no point, I know

30 March 2009

I, in the rear, watch
think of the wire to the fridge
in blurring inefficiency

they go off to a surrendering bed, but
I must remain here, thinking why
it might be like this or that

in analysis, the Nyeri rain
the Nanyuki bar, road to Isiolo
bringing me back home

the warmth of an Nkubu night
chopped pine, Mendelssohn, chess, monopoly too
the lights out at ten pm

the generator wanting to sleep
with the chorus of east African mosquito
other insect, the school uniform ostrich feather redundant

irrelevant to the time
elbow across north and south
Nanyuki bar of equator, but who cares, except me…

A fly in a bag / Trio / Miniature moon

March 2009 

 the hanging bag by the rear window in there, 

a fly buzzing in irritation, 

incomprehension at being unable to get out 

 wondering what it had done to be in this predicament 

 the opaque pale grey jamming its orientation 

 the walls in gentle tremor against the wing 

 the fish bone, meat bit just watch 

 they do nothing to help four fifty; but maybe high noon too 

 I chop carrot, apple get water - my tea 

 it got out 

I went to check after tea

Trio

25 March 2009 

by the rear in the half lit garden with four pm air 

two mynahs beat wing and bop on the concrete 

one oriental robin magpie, enquiring with a peck or two 

by corner tree in agitating motion 

a wary running bird poking but the name…

Miniature moon

March 2009 

On my right palm the

 blister from hoeing is like a miniature moon 

I can pick it, or keep it 

calm in its ignorance, 

in harmony with the earth 

but not with me

Bream on a plate

March 2009

pale post-steam pink,
the fin barb like Mohican hair,
taking the spoon, cutting through
in the way of a surgeon, extracting the meat,
a scale getting into the mouth…

yellow green mak tam leaf,
teeming garlic juice,

no rice

on the screen, in free fall,
leaf after leaf of orange autumn

A poem for a mug

I used to own a number of mugs, used to, please note
but they are gone now
thrown away by me
in quality cricketing way
in debris by the base of a tree
I imagine they’ll be there
in a hundred years from now
maybe being picked up from the jungle floor
examined by a young girl or boy
not yet even thought about

I can’t drink tea now; I shall have to
use my cupped hands to drink water
from the tap; that has the advantage though
in that I get
no insects in the mouth
unlike my containers of filtered water; they
attract insects like a bizarre magnet; maybe
it’s the lime I put in… I
hadn’t thought of that
yes, maybe it’s the lime.

I bought one mug
in a small Chinese shop
it had clear line etchings on it
quite exquisite, like the Chinese tea
I used to take from it; that’s gone too,
along with a Bugs Bunny mug,
a present from my students, oh
ten years back; they - the young people, I mean -
are good at gauging
a teacher’s mentality.

I’ll miss my mugs - I already am - and my tea
- I already am - and to make matters worse
they - the wretched pair of big birds - have refused to disperse
they are still up there
irritating
hooting
annoying me
non-stop, enjoying every minute
high up
in the tree

Refugee from a picture

March 2009

Here, hearing the bird group chattering on
on a bright morning, walking into
the town through park of rucking tree

ATM, bank, Post Office par avion, butcher for lamb

town hall clocking in on time
cattle market empty
car park of ticketing circulation

rugby, the Blorenge opposite
breaking industry and agriculture
the Ysgyryd Fach to the east by the railway track

the air clear, hot ready to bite you

back up to the top, heart pumping
take a lunch of sausage, bread, a pot of Rooibos tea
in the afternoon, tidy up the place, then writing

the night bringing
an oh la la woman to the shop for a pack
then taking her away from me

now walking back alone with my beer

Night with East Africa

12 March 2009

I put the computer on tonight, at 00.43
a time when no-one, nothing came

on the table, an insect, in lounging walk
I blow away, in kindness, not wishing hurt

hearing Benin Angelique, ‘Malaika’ in Dakar, enjoying it

no, you wouldn’t, would you

because you’re ignorant
that is why

the Wye, cool me

the…is…empty…now