Monday 2 November 2020

ZKGs 2018-2020





Bestelle dein Haus, denn du wirst sterben

und nicht lebendig bleiben.

(Isaiah 38, 1)





four swans fly high

above the sound

they seem to know

where they are bound


they fly in an

ascending line

combine to form

a secret sign


they slowly slice

the sky in two

as on they move

right out of view


i have no way

possess no art

to stop the folds

that fall apart





the blackbird chirps and

trills away

he improvises

every day


or so it seems though

it may be

he shapes his song to

fit his tree


and seamlessly the

two then merge

and fill the space where

they converge





Mein Fall ist, in Kürze, dieser: es ist mir 

völlig die Fähigkeit abhanden gekommen,

über irgend etwas zusammenhängend

zu denken oder zu sprechen


from early on

i pinned my hopes

on words alone


so when they lie

there in my hands

like smooth sea-stones


bereft of meaning

this represents

a loss of faith


a gain of gravitas





get things done right now

i say to myself

don’t procrastinate

don’t shilly-shally


there’s so little time

but there’s every time

each and every time

every nowest now





the cherry apple

laden with berries

like notes of music

on branches of staves

pure Messiaen









the rooks gyrate

above the tree

settle then swirl

flutter and flit

raucous and black

against a shifting sky –

grief that will not fade

colours that have run

done can’t be undone

made will be unmade





her breathing grows

ever shallower

till it surfaces

and stops

she is gone


she lies outside

in her fresh-dug grave

wrapped in her rug

topped with a white rose

less than ten metres away

a heart’s depth down






seize the nettle

nothing lasts or returns

until its sting is emptied

seize the nettle







were i

to shave my beard off

likewise my moustache

i would know precisely

where each whorl lay

the feeling under my fingers

of over half a century’s

intimate acquaintance


i would feel the loss

the wind in the no-longer hairs

the phantom pain

of wind in stubble

would stroke what now

was gritty skin

would incessantly

brush the moustache out

from the nostrils

pull the beard together

under the chin

in one firm caress


i put the razor back

where it belongs

until it’s time



ZKG 10


no path to stray from


there is no beauty other than what’s beautiful

no pattern formed by sudden glintings in the now

the need for solace makes no sense but is insatiable

no knowing why yet sparks of flint at sensing how





the 78


the pick-up arm weaves and pitches

as it surfs the groove

defies the idea

the speed is the same

at the rim

as where the track unthreads

at the endless inner circle


grief is my anchor

love the wind in my sails





the heavenly twins


two angry twin-gods

bastard and bollocks

share out between them

humanity’s woes


bollocks an expert

at causing diseases

in bodies that stutter

and splutter and gut


bastard the nasty

steps up the pressure

breaks minds like walnuts

with crackers unseen


up in the night sky

bastard and bollocks

wind their keys wildly

let go and then leave





No comments: