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low tide

if death isn’t just nothingness then i feel it might be like this  an endless wet sandy beach and the dim rattle of far off waves the sky blocked by clouds that sag grey in the air  and a wind that plugs the ears and loudens the mind  i stop and you walk on barefoot and carefree as I look for you in the distance  i saw you as a memory i’ll have i can see your smile from here  you said you talked to your body coaching it to fight the cancer you saw the sea as limitlessness an open expanse of opportunity this place gave you hope and your voice a clarity but I felt a void the air we breathe in dreams  and I felt a stranger in it in this space where our privacy wanders where an elderly lady in pink paddles to challenge her flesh and bones where family units huddle together  in matching tshirts behind windbreaker walls i walked alone in the space in between these private scenes through an air of stem cells a guest ...
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the trellick tower lobby

the door opened on first press a resident followed us through and with a smile let us in the inner door too  using his fob on the already unlocked door we stood in a small lobby  while he punched the lift buttons and explained to us in another language that a lift wasn’t working primary coloured bauhaus windows in concrete were at one end of the lobby  and an exposed ceiling and a long vacant concierge was at the other the resident offered us to take the lift first and  we declined too politely to be taken seriously  two other residents came out the lift and turned back before leaving are you visiting? yeah we were let in  because people here get funny about people coming in We understand, we were just curious to see you can contact the residents association I think or there’s days you can visit we’re just going to photograph that wall and go ok cool we considered taking the lift to explore more  but I was uneasy there was architecture built on utopian...
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over the fence

hooligan seagulls and brassy brazilian from a back door open wide  there’s a dappled orange light on the grass like the surface of a pool  and leaves flutter on bushes of carnival skirts a dandelion clock head floats across the blue that tendrils of bushes stretch their limbs to everything’s still  with each little piece moving  and the cat rolls through chalk
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by the fountain at st. barts

sitting around the fountain outside st. barts wheelchairs and scrubs patients and family pigeons gathering like rolex street sellers the fountain spills  and fills itself up to spill again a lady in a gown is wheeled to the fountain by her adult daughters  she reaches out a heavy hand and they playfully scoop the cold water into her palm  there’s joy on their faces    a child showing love through service and a dying person savouring the touch of cold water  just got to get through the day, a doctor tells his colleague as they walk past, then it’s the weekend    
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pigeon jazz

i don’t remember mum and dad on those dusty yellow summers, but I do remember the soft brass of a well fed pigeon  it’s a recollection of stillness that i feel when I hear the sound even now and conversations drift by the window and machinery churns underneath while the pigeon overhead purrs across slate rooftops  and the time that’s passed in between these two moments is felt only in this coarse skeleton that rises slower
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little britain might be alright

the neighbour with the window display of st georges flags and a ‘vote restore’ sign  has put a swing in his front garden  for the neighbouring refugee kids
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leaves

a bud waiting to live or a leaf waiting to die i am the surviver of genes the latest in the line of eyes that have seen this world born again a body already weary from yesterday what are we breeding contenders for? the good fortune of at least the same?
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sat among us

dad sat among us  a jelly fish dry on the sand swimming in thoughts his residued face stoney  i imagine it like being under water faces above the surface through squints a soft weaving glimmer of colours voices in excited flocks tommy wants to say his name to see how he’ll respond but there aren’t many connections only a click trying to flame  we are the next generation’s manure the crunch of a leaf under bare feet  here is youth, and here is death meeting as promised   
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swimming in it

our time is a curved horizon that curves until it doesn’t i swam in my time resisting the urge to paddle  a hundred thoughts churned and each limb itched to move i sank in my time and a memory came of a loud clock in a silent room - the smell of the dust of old things  and then the relief of a TV too loud and time being just what’s left of the current temporary thing i have feared the time of old age  understimulating and over stimulated an ocean of time but a mind on repeat and oblivious to it  a loud clock to remind you it’s there, but it’s regular tick also signaling it leave  i want to lie in the saline water that holds me still with a mind only for the sky, cold chest and warm face and the music of time that swells long before and after my body is within it   
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