A single white bait
In the river did I see
So to the take-away
Food bar did I go
To buy some fish for tea.
Words from the Jagged Edge of Truth
A single white bait
In the river did I see
So to the take-away
Food bar did I go
To buy some fish for tea.
The bare facts
and the naked truth
have been dressed
to impress;
together
they dance the night
away to the piper’s tune.
There is a hut, freshly painted,
that sits above the rumbling,
white waves hitting hard against
the southern coast; and inside,
on the small kitchen table,
his old pen and sheets of unused
paper are waiting for a hand
to write them.
We headed over the hill this morning
with a quite a list of things we needed
to do and things we needed to pick up;
we came home with ticks beside every item
on our list, basking in a pleasing sense of
achievement that nothing could disrupt.
The silent satellite,
sliding across the face of the Milky Way,
holds my gaze, unblinking,
makes notes I cannot see
and knows more than I know
about where I have been and
and what it is that pleases me.
One leaf falls from a tree
and then another follows,
and another, and another
until that one leaf
is entirely forgotten,
even by the tree itself.
The State stands on the front steps,
moves through the front door
to the front room…and I wonder
when the frog will leap from
the pot of water that is
beginning to boil.
We made our way around
the edge of the harbour,
above the milky waters
that nestled into the rocks
and the shore, that lay
at rest in the breathless,
noon-day air.
There are treasures in the second-hand shop
that are hidden to the unseeing eye, to the
heart that has no connection to the
emotion of the times in which the
the treasure hunter has lived.
At the end of the St James Walkway,
the white mountains stood upside down
in the polished surface of the lake,
their winter reflection a post card
reminder for the traveller whose
journey passed this way.