Beetle in the bathroom / Bug

August 2010

A one centimetre beetle
I got it out of the bathroom floor-water yesterday
put it under the cot

I thought that was that; there was no movement

The next morning, not there

Back in the bathroom, he fought the water again
Again, I put it under the cot

A few hours later, he wasn’t there
Back in the bathroom, he fought the water again
I washed the soap away, picked it up,
put it on the ledge of the bedroom window

He’s there now, unmoving, and will be for a long time…

But the next morning, not there;

the window doesn’t close tight
he must have got away in the night

How nice

Bug

On the bed, trying to write
before the sun is out for the count

blunt pencil, blunt thinking too

then

a tiny bug
walks onto the paper

I tap, 
he jumps off 

but to where?

Bamboo air

2 April 2010

the past few afternoons, with the sky clear
two bulbuls alight on a high bamboo
going to and fro in the late afternoon breeze

they whistle to me, I whistle back
they chat with each other
ten metres high, at ease with the air

the banana plant is watching them
wondering why they go up there
not here

A contrast in weather

Part 1

on a warm Welsh night
one can see the moon
window-beating in random, albeit in haze

the chinking of glassware in an open garden
the wooden chimes of a neighbour
play a musical smörgåsbord of quiet noise

a train goes by, the whistle a perfect fourth
one may get the occasional bird cry
or catch the trickle of the Gafenni

the orange street lighting
in quiet contrast with anything
the brush of plant against window

on a warm Welsh night
one can see the moon
window-beating in random, returning your gaze

Part 2

on a cold Welsh night
one can see the rain
window-beating in random, making a maze

just a few people about
hunched in thick coat
going to the corner shop

the rest are at home
enjoying music on the wireless or
the mental poison of the goggle box

the wind picks up
in a howl of temporary energy
the hissing gas fire, the curtains drawn to

on a cold Welsh night
one can see the rain
window-beating in random, enjoying the haze

Where are you from?

I met

when teaching in a university
in Kuala Lumpur
a few years back

a student from Africa
I was on my way home
but I had a brief chat with him

then I, 'Where are you from?'
Eyes open
teeth contrasting with skin, big grin

'Aaahmm fraam Sen-gaaaaall!'

I enjoy up to now?

You bet

Why, Wye,

28 December 2009

in the morning, light rain
ceasing in polite way
allowing the sun to come

I went into the garden to get a bit
my first foray for the last month
or two, immobility etc

I am watching
an orange butterfly
in inane way

going here and there
among the ankle high grass, some tickle my upper leg
the sun a warmth I have not enjoyed for a time

an oriental robin magpie
burrowing into the cut foliage
thinking I can’t spot him

then, in Messerschmitt way
going the roof of the
neighbouring house

to regale me
with an anthropological tune
than Messiaen might have done justice to

I think back to a winter poem
of the Wye, watching the ducks, crisps, the mother
with warm wrapped baby

the frontier between Brecon and Radnor
I think back to a poem, a place, a time...
but why, Wye...

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…