Day 10 - Air to Air

Its crisp today the air is ripe
with possibilities.
The fragments of my thoughts bounce off
the flowers and the trees,
which rustle in the faint path of
a subtle summer breeze.
And all this freshness is enough
to set my mind at ease.

The light contains a quality
that frames the open land.
And you can see for miles around
depending where you stand.
So match the clouds with landmarks found
below them underhand.
The character of your home town
it moves like flowing sand.

The people passing by each day,
upon some quest they know.
Their minds full of the potent mix
of happiness and woe.
Anxiety and confidence
swim in each other's tow.
But little of this turbulence,
does on the surface show.

See like a duck we hide from view
the flurry underneath.
And of the questions in our mind
few make it past the teeth.
Though to our friends we often do
our inner thoughts bequeath.
But sometimes from our very selves
we hide the air we breathe.

Day 9 - The Human God's lament

And so in time the cats and dogs
           learnt from their human masters,
the power of speech, the use of tools,
           and philosophic answers.
And ways to build new cities up,
           imparted from our guidance.
They picked up all the bad stuff too,
           the arrogance and violence.

They did not need opposing thumbs
           as many people thought.
With virtual tools they could control,
           most anything they sought.
And when at last they learnt to stand
           on two legs and not four,
they now could do just anything
           that we had done before.

And what of us, where did we fit
           inside this new world order?
Well at the start we fared quite well,
           they worshipped us with ardour.
We were to them the deities
           who'd brought this world about.
But we grew fat and lazy
           and we never moved around.

And one by one we disappeared
           until but few remained,
and we were placed in temples each,
           observed through windows stained.
Our bodies no more did we need,
           and so they atrophied,
But the science of the dogs and cats,
           meant that we never died.

And so we sat and watched the world
           that we had them bequeathed.
And saw both splendour and great woe
           with every breath we breathed.
They proudly showed us wondrous works.
           In building they surpassed us.
But with the same amount of pride
           displayed their foe's disasters.

Each faction had a temple grand
           with  human being seated.
And all believed that their's was best.
           The rest must be defeated.
The thing that that hurts the most to know,
           that all these wars they fight,
are for the sake of us, their gods,
           which they say makes it right.

And so I sit and watch them kill
           in my name. They won't listen.
Now and forever am I cursed
           to see this tragic vision.
The cats and dogs have turned this world
           into a living hell.
But I can't hold them guilty
           'cos we taught them all so well.

Day 8 - The note

High  above the city lights
floating on an updraft,
a once discarded paper note
spinning in the wind.

Bathed in halogen
from twenty million lamps
it makes its journey through
the musky air.
An air fragrant with the lives of 8 million hurried busy souls.

A lull as the wind becomes a zephyr
brings it gently down onto a crenellated rooftop.
Just one from hundreds and thousands of rooftops.
The real number not the coloured candy pieces found on cakes and trifles
that dissapoint you the first time you discover there are only 84.

this rooftop crowns an elongated house squashed between two others
like a book forced into an already full shelf.

It pauses there as it takes a breath while traffic whirls around.

And in the house asleep
dreaming dreams of many things
a single person rests.

The wind picks up again
and the note tries to move on.
But it can't.
it's trapped between two green ceramic tiles.

The person wakes
the sleeping breath changes in an instant to a gasp.
As a sudden realisation of the interconnectdness of the cosmos
And in that gasp all is made clear.

They fall asleep again
And in the morning wake without remembrance
of what went on the night before


As we all do.

Day 7 - The House Mouse

The mouse looked out across the floor
and read the length to cover.
He didn't like this game no more,
what choice did he have other?

When he was young the speeds he'd move,
meant he was hardly spotted.
But now his movements weren't so smooth,
and went passed time allotted.

The steps with benches were the worst,
now such a pained manoeuvre.
And he's the one who owned them first.
Back then he was a mover.
 
But they put cameras in the joint.
And all the people watched them.
His speeches suffered at that point,
and many times he botched them.

He felt his party just wasn't the same
maybe the time was right.
To leave behind this politics game
on floor no more to fight.

Day 6 - The bean

A barely yellow blurry light falls gently on the square,
Where the traders selling worldly wares swear in the open air.
And the token words there spoken, heard by birds in oaks are broken,
down to chimes and cheeps unspoken, where the soaken herds have cloaks on.

There is seen a bottle green, mottled like a throttled spleen.
In the bottle can be seen, fossil of a tiny bean.
And the bean is not for sale, not for money nor for tales,
it is merely on display, clearly played for other sales.

All around the people gather, sister, brother, uncle, mother.
Chatting on the newest wonder and forgetting one another.
And behind the dipping sheep, creeps a slippy sneaky thief.
From a tent where people kipping, try to get from sleep relief.

Passed enclosures to the crowd , whose loud clothes act like a shroud
to the thief, who proudly walks up to the stall in fact unbowed.
He begins to tell the story, to distract them, of a locket.
Slipping bottle into pocket, fitting like a throttle socket.

As he thinks he is unseen, magic precious bean took clean,
he continues with the story, of the locket of a queen.
But he's spotted by the watchful dotted eyeball of the seller
and she points to his side pocket where the bean is glowing yellow.

Day 5 - Mock Interview

"Well don't just stand there come on in"
The clear clean voice calls out.
"Now let us see, where to begin."
You slide into the couch.

"I have here all your details,
and I've never seen the like.
You claim to've written Moby Dick,
designed the folding bike,
and when Mandela spoke once freed,
you held the bloomin' mike."

"Now I'm as easy going
As the next one, folks tell me.
I give the benefit of doubt
to everyone I see.
But can't see how you did all that
and still be twenty three."

"Well that's straightforward" you retort,
"it's now time to come clean.
I used all my timekeeping skills,
to build a time machine.
And went on an amazing trip,
to prove that I was keen."

"I used my own initiative,
to change the fate mankind.
And with team building skills I'd learnt,
I changed a nation's mind
against three wars. But now I'm back.
A steady job to find."

"I see. Well that makes sense I guess.
You come across quite well.
But in this corner of your form
you've erred in how you spell,
'liaison'. And we have strict rules
for spelling, can't you tell."

"And though you've done impressive acts
this job for Fulham council,
had twenty thousand applicants,
and nineteen thousand still."

But you don't give up easily
"That's quite a lot it's true.
For nineteen thousand folk to meet,
I'll tell you what to do.
Why don't you hire me today
to run their interview?"

"You have a point, these interviews,
six months have taken me.
At this rate I will not be done,
'till Twenty Twenty Three.
So you can take my job right now,
and I at last am free."

Day 4 - DONT PANIC!!

Don't panic if the Government starts saying "must buy petrol,
cos' service stations running dry have very high potential"
It makes the situation worse and really 'aint essential.

Don't panic if the things you want aren't happening just yet.
Life takes its own meandering path and nothing's ever set.
So stop and smell the roses now. Good things one day you'll get. 

Don't panic if a ghost you see inside an ancient building,
and you've just read a scary book about a reaper yielding.
They've just popped by to catch the breeze, no weapons are they wielding.

Don't panic when you tell someone for first time that you love 'em.
Instead just speak coherently. Don't throw the words above 'em.
Don't give yourself a hard time if the way you cannot fathom.

Don't panic used by one who hiked to see our world from space,
Who put a new perspective on this harmless human race.
Well mostly, so the story goes. Just keep your towel in place. 

Don't panic if the sun don't set. You're likely in the Arctic.
Unless you've gone the seven thousand miles down to Antarctic.
And don't panic if you can't find another word to rhyme.

Day 3 - Squashed Oaths

The ball picks up speed as it leaves the racket,
hitting the wall obliquely,
finding the only irregularity on the otherwise smoothness of the plastered wall.

It flies off strangely
and player misses
   and stumbles
      and falls
         and swears.

A brief exclamation nothing more.
An immediate link between brain and voice that shows us to be real and alive.
Not hidden but human and visceral and part of the world.

It is enough.
The opponent is not impressed.
"That'll do for today"

Racket slides into sleeve.
Sleeve is pushed into bag.
And bag and owner squeeze themselves through the door. Like that.

Silence.
Sudden silence.
A little way off  can be heard the bounce of balls in other courts.
Other worlds.

Swears again.
A mirror to the first expletive, but one of loss.
The opponent so crucial to progress is out.
District attorney, client, publisher, celebrity?
Back to square one.

Outside a hop,
a skip,
a consideration of a jump,
is enough to disentangle the webs of the mind.

The sun shines regardless.
The world is abuzz.
Another profanity,
one of sheer joy.

Day 2 - The world today in triolet

The people of Burma are happy today,
what we take for granted they fought for.
Although true democracy's still far away,
the people of Burma are happy today.
The army should harken what they have to say,
raw power for decades they sought more.
The people of Burma are happy today,

what we take for granted they fought for.

The people of England are worried today,
the whole public sector's in danger.
Though other world problems might seem to outweigh
the people of England are worried today.
And all that was good will be carried away,
the government couldn't act stranger.
The people of England are worried today.
The whole public sector's in danger.

The people of Syria're dying today,

reports say explosions continue.

Though 83 countries denounce Assad's way

the people of Syria're dying today.
UN's called a ceasefire, will start soon they say,

the power to stop it's within you.

The people of Syria're dying today,

reports say explosions continue.

Day 1 - The Flute

A speckled broom leans lightly 'gainst a wall
that in a southern sun gleams crisp and bright,
and shows the cracking paint in all its funk.
All framed by two ash trees to left and right.

A growth of vines has spurted to one side,
though of its crop but two small grapes remain.
The rest in metal buckets carried off.
And one such pail is left upon the plain.

A hooded figure enters from the north
and picks up broom and bucket in each hand.
Then  turns to wander slowly down the path,
with feet that know the contours of the land.

The land has known the seasons long and dry,
and crunches 'neath the hooded figure's boot.
The figure has but little to her name,
except her prized and precious silver flute.

Through all the toil and hardship of her part
that she plays out below the scorching sky.
The only thing that let her heart feel light,
was when she played her flute to passers by.

Her mum had passed it down to her years back,
along with knowledge of how flutes were played.
Her mother's mother passed it down to her.
None knew how long ago the flute was made.

But after many years of heavy work,
the world's become a harsher harder place.
She knows there's only one way to survive,
and that is something she cannot yet face.

But sell the flute she must to pay for food
if only for her little daughter's sake.
The pain is more than she can well endure
but hunger is a keener sharper ache.

So knowing this she takes out silver flute
And looks at it across the many years.
And for the first time and indeed the last,
she plays a tune just meant for her own ears.