Transformed

September 28, 2019

Her voice whispered your name and you felt transformed. Remember that? In the street when it started to snow, the big flakes melting on the collar of her coat. Standing so close together, she set you on fire, her breath smoking in the icy air, and her lips soft on yours, and her nose cold against your cheek – you were dancing on the tip of her tongue, remember? So close, the crease of her hipbone pressed, grinding on tumescence. And you glimpsed silent, teasing laughter in her eyes…

It’s snowing outside. Looks

like Venus in a movie—like the
planetoid from Alien,

the comic book
adaptation by Dark Horse

in the late eighties. You
know what I mean.

All blue and lavender. All
black and mauve.

Imagine this world
is the world

we were born
into. All
soft and careless.

All flesh, all organs. All
eyes and

ears and
mouths absorbing

the same atmospheric gases
as the monsters

who will one day come,
identify

the weaknesses of our compound
and so swiftly

and
exuberantly consume us.

Francisco Salas Pérez

Turned you wild

August 6, 2019

It had stopped snowing. Both of us were a little stir crazy, if you remember. So we went outside, and then it was as if the fresh, frigid morning air turned you wild –

‘I’m going to swim,’ you called.

‘You’ll freeze,’ I replied.

But you threw off clothes like an unruly child and leapt without hesitation in to the water. Splashed and squealed and went under. Then rose again laughing, like some primeval creature, half-water, half-ice, from a time before time.

I stood on the snowy bank watching your antics, a partly-aroused voyeur. I’ll never forget, when you scrambled out, the sight of your glistening back and your beautiful bottom…

Dreams & Moonlight

February 1, 2019

Wednesday 30th January

Last night, misty moonlight in the window. Our duvet and bedroom furniture turned milk white in this strange, uncanny light – which makes me drowsy and dull, the same feeling you have after lovemaking.

In reality: I’m the ghost of a third rate Edwardian poet trapped between dimensions, here, in the snow, on this moor. It’s sad you should have to find out this way – but that’s life, as they say.

Now, for my next trick –

P

A house is never still in darkness to those who listen intently; there is a whispering in distant chambers, an unearthly hand presses the snib of the window, the latch rises. Ghosts were created when the first man woke in the night.

J.M. Barrie
The Little Minister

a creature of excess

January 30, 2019

Tuesday 29th Jan

Snow forecast for today across the moors. Smoky rose evening yesterday. I have written so many words, held so many lovers – I’m a creature of excess, it’s true. Greedy like a spoilt child. But the threatening, predatory sky remains mute. It doesn’t give a damn!

P

Night Below Zero

January 22, 2019

3 AM, the night is absolutely still;
Snow squeals beneath my skis, plumes on the turns.
I stop at the canyon’s edge, stand looking out
Over the Great Valley, over the millions —
In bed, drunk, loving, tending mills, furnaces,
Alone, wakeful, as the world rolls in chaos.
The quarter moon rises in the black heavens —
Over the sharp constellations of the cities
The cold lies, crystalline and silent,
Locked between the mountains.

Kenneth Rexroth

Watch the sparrows

January 21, 2019

Watch the sparrows feeding on breadcrumbs
In the snow
Before the cat lunges and leaps
Hopelessly
And they fly for a slate grey
Sky

Andrew Peters

Night Walk

December 29, 2018

And the night smells like snow.
Walking home for a moment
you almost believe you could start again.
And an intense love rushes to your heart,
and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.

Franz Wright
Night Walk

Dreams & fragments –

December 3, 2018

Distant lights in faraway places; walking in the woods with the sound of heavy rain beating on the thick foliage overhead; the smell of damp earth and autumn leaves that look like small wrinkled brown faces underfoot; marble statues (with huge marble eyes) that walk in the dark, their purpose unknown, unknowable; endless dimly illuminated corridors; and lost cities trapped in time with secret knowledge of their own wild abandonment –

Sweet girls so full of grace – and naughty thoughts; exuberant October afternoons; Grandfather clocks tick-tocking in a dull back parlour; awkward silences that end in a kiss; The bright light from the moon in your window; darkness like wet velvet against the skin; doors that squeak open upon blackness; ghost whispers in your ear at midnight; the haunting cry of a dog-fox in the night; unfrequented places; a desolate stretch of snow at dusk; January afternoons whirling with snow; leaning gravestones enclosed by yew trees; faces beautiful with strangeness –

Snow –

November 26, 2018

Snow
falls on snow —
and remains silent

Santōka,
Haiku: An Anthology of Japanese Poems (edited by Stephen Addiss, Fumiko Yamamoto and Akira Yamamoto)