MOON WALK
These colours
Here in this dark shining
I wonder, do they have names?
In the morning sun I knew them well enough,
( I knew you )
But now the light has been to the moon
Something has changed
And as we walk together in its light
I see a change in you too.
Where have you been, does it have a name?
And would I have ears to understand
The dark shining road that has led you?
These colours
Maybe they are more than just dark colours
But my eyes cannot pierce this veil of moon mystery
To see what they signify.
They will change back with the sun's return
But not you,
I don't know how I know:
The colour of your words?
The glint of a new history in your eyes?
The path that you have trodden
Lit by a moon reflecting
The mysterious light of a dark sun;
Wherever you have been
Wherever you go
You will never be the same again
Wilf June 2016
Tuesday, 21 June 2016
Landscape
LANDSCAPE
The landscape of my world has become strange
If ever it was mine it is no longer
Maybe the sky still meets the earth
But I cannot always find that place
And there is too much earth.
You may not see the difference
But if you stare
Something will stare back, and you will know.
Don't stare unless you're prepared
And then you better pray.
There was once a call that told me who and where
I was
It whispered like a drawing sword.
The landscape has changed
The land moves like the sea
Is that call still true
Amidst the whispering of the waves?
Wilf June 2016
The landscape of my world has become strange
If ever it was mine it is no longer
Maybe the sky still meets the earth
But I cannot always find that place
And there is too much earth.
You may not see the difference
But if you stare
Something will stare back, and you will know.
Don't stare unless you're prepared
And then you better pray.
There was once a call that told me who and where
I was
It whispered like a drawing sword.
The landscape has changed
The land moves like the sea
Is that call still true
Amidst the whispering of the waves?
Wilf June 2016
Thursday, 24 March 2016
Old Sam
OLD SAM
‘Don't touch me, don't question me, don't talk to me ,stay with me ‘.
~ Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot.
Samuel Beckett. Greatest playwright of all time, in my view. Sam hated Becket’s stuff, for all kinds of philosophical reasons that I could never grasp. He used to say, ‘The only thing Mr. Beckett and I have in common is a first name.’ Funny that. Him being a staunch atheist at the time. Funnier still how he came to like him after he converted. But then – Sam always took some fathoming. Apart from Beckett we had pretty well everything else in common. I used to hold his hand until they put all the tubes in.
I first came across Sam in Spiro’s tobacconist's by the Haymarket. I asked for a packet of the same brand of Greek fags as he was about to buy. ‘Good grief,’ said a voice behind me, ‘we must be the only two people in London who smoke those.'Our paths crossed again when we were both working at the Old Vic. After that we became firm friends. He kept me from drinking myself to death after Janice left, and from killing the woman she left with. He was – there. I miss being able to hold his hand. Though it always felt that he was holding mine, even when he had no strength left When Sam got religion, converted, whatever you call it (I didn't want to get involved so I didn't enquire too much) he wasn't like one of these weird happy creeps. I don't know what you’d call it, but he was different. And he started liking Beckett! Never understood that. I visited him three times a week as he just faded away. But every time I came it was like there was more of him there. He'd be able to explain it. It was awful seeing him there unable to talk. I'll never forget the last time I saw him. Something was cracking off in the ward: nurses
and porters flying about, someone screaming, but when I got within six feet of Sam’s bed everything went quiet. It was like we were in some kind of sanctuary. Sam couldn’t do anything and neither could I, just sit in silence. Sam died the next day. I miss him terribly: his friendship, kindness, that brilliant mind, no-one to pinch fags from (we really were the only two). I’ll never forget the feeling I had by his bed at the end. So – powerful. Often, when I think of him, it comes back to me. Like a blanket. l wonder what it means.
‘Don't touch me, don't question me, don't talk to me ,stay with me ‘.
~ Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot.
Samuel Beckett. Greatest playwright of all time, in my view. Sam hated Becket’s stuff, for all kinds of philosophical reasons that I could never grasp. He used to say, ‘The only thing Mr. Beckett and I have in common is a first name.’ Funny that. Him being a staunch atheist at the time. Funnier still how he came to like him after he converted. But then – Sam always took some fathoming. Apart from Beckett we had pretty well everything else in common. I used to hold his hand until they put all the tubes in.
I first came across Sam in Spiro’s tobacconist's by the Haymarket. I asked for a packet of the same brand of Greek fags as he was about to buy. ‘Good grief,’ said a voice behind me, ‘we must be the only two people in London who smoke those.'Our paths crossed again when we were both working at the Old Vic. After that we became firm friends. He kept me from drinking myself to death after Janice left, and from killing the woman she left with. He was – there. I miss being able to hold his hand. Though it always felt that he was holding mine, even when he had no strength left When Sam got religion, converted, whatever you call it (I didn't want to get involved so I didn't enquire too much) he wasn't like one of these weird happy creeps. I don't know what you’d call it, but he was different. And he started liking Beckett! Never understood that. I visited him three times a week as he just faded away. But every time I came it was like there was more of him there. He'd be able to explain it. It was awful seeing him there unable to talk. I'll never forget the last time I saw him. Something was cracking off in the ward: nurses
and porters flying about, someone screaming, but when I got within six feet of Sam’s bed everything went quiet. It was like we were in some kind of sanctuary. Sam couldn’t do anything and neither could I, just sit in silence. Sam died the next day. I miss him terribly: his friendship, kindness, that brilliant mind, no-one to pinch fags from (we really were the only two). I’ll never forget the feeling I had by his bed at the end. So – powerful. Often, when I think of him, it comes back to me. Like a blanket. l wonder what it means.
Wednesday, 9 December 2015
When the Music Starts
WHEN THE MUSIC STARTS
1
Captain's Log,
Stardate: Tuesday 22 nd December 1970
Sheffield City Hall
8.30 pm -Band begins extended interstellar adventure
9.00 pm -Band returns to earth to retune instruments.
(Note to research facility-investigate why over 2000 people didn't notice the music going out of tune.)
2
A note rasps and tingles
A score of overtones slowly arise, climb and spread
Another note curls,turns and quivers
Over drones humming the deep foundations
Of a temple of sound
Created from the master's sitar
In those few moments a door was opened
To a strange world
Sound stopped
Door closed
The master smiled ,
"Thank you, but that was just the tuning, now I will begin"
3
We're a long way from home
And a long time ago
We stopped listening ,then stopped hearing .
It was a long , long time ago that the stars sang ,
A long time ago that a garden groaned .
We can't hear it any more
We're a long way from home
4
Mystics ,the world over,
Seeking the one thing know one thing,
After all God has taken them through
On the pitted road to perfect love
The many years seem like a few moments,
And when everything is in place at last
They know it is time to begin
5
Worshipping at the altar
Where the black disc spins;
A wheel turning through the door of the world ,
Spinning dreams that tell me,
"Go up go back go down go
No need to stay here",
So I dreamed myself away
From here and all its grey
Spinning spinning to another time
Under another blue sky
6
The songs go on
While the sky stares down unreachable
The songs go on
As the broken door creaks
The songs go on
Trying to find a home
The songs go on
Until the beginning
The songs go on
Until the dreamers awake
And the music starts
7
In this silence
Sky and Earth meet
The last door has opened
Home
In this silence
The dreamers awake to find
Something greater than all their dreams
Out of this silence
The music starts
Every movement
Every shape
Every colour
Sings
Every surface
Every depth
Everything
Sings
Every muscle
Voice
Heart
Sings
Unending
Wilf Dec 2015
1
Captain's Log,
Stardate: Tuesday 22 nd December 1970
Sheffield City Hall
8.30 pm -Band begins extended interstellar adventure
9.00 pm -Band returns to earth to retune instruments.
(Note to research facility-investigate why over 2000 people didn't notice the music going out of tune.)
2
A note rasps and tingles
A score of overtones slowly arise, climb and spread
Another note curls,turns and quivers
Over drones humming the deep foundations
Of a temple of sound
Created from the master's sitar
In those few moments a door was opened
To a strange world
Sound stopped
Door closed
The master smiled ,
"Thank you, but that was just the tuning, now I will begin"
3
We're a long way from home
And a long time ago
We stopped listening ,then stopped hearing .
It was a long , long time ago that the stars sang ,
A long time ago that a garden groaned .
We can't hear it any more
We're a long way from home
4
Mystics ,the world over,
Seeking the one thing know one thing,
After all God has taken them through
On the pitted road to perfect love
The many years seem like a few moments,
And when everything is in place at last
They know it is time to begin
5
Worshipping at the altar
Where the black disc spins;
A wheel turning through the door of the world ,
Spinning dreams that tell me,
"Go up go back go down go
No need to stay here",
So I dreamed myself away
From here and all its grey
Spinning spinning to another time
Under another blue sky
6
The songs go on
While the sky stares down unreachable
The songs go on
As the broken door creaks
The songs go on
Trying to find a home
The songs go on
Until the beginning
The songs go on
Until the dreamers awake
And the music starts
7
In this silence
Sky and Earth meet
The last door has opened
Home
In this silence
The dreamers awake to find
Something greater than all their dreams
Out of this silence
The music starts
Every movement
Every shape
Every colour
Sings
Every surface
Every depth
Everything
Sings
Every muscle
Voice
Heart
Sings
Unending
Wilf Dec 2015
The nearness of You
THE NEARNESS OF YOU
You came so close
I could smell your last meal,
Wine and bread and wine
Body and blood carried on your breath.
You held me so close
I became strong,
You held me so tight
And I broke,
So, in Your arms safe at last.
A safety I do not yet understand,
This poor broken man-a sparrow
Fallen to earth
Felled by the wounded hand
That now holds me.
Wilf Dec 2015
You came so close
I could smell your last meal,
Wine and bread and wine
Body and blood carried on your breath.
You held me so close
I became strong,
You held me so tight
And I broke,
So, in Your arms safe at last.
A safety I do not yet understand,
This poor broken man-a sparrow
Fallen to earth
Felled by the wounded hand
That now holds me.
Wilf Dec 2015
Thursday, 5 November 2015
Crisis
CRISIS
The frame is
breaking
As the picture
grows and changes
It cannot be
contained any more
Where ever I look
At all I believe
and love
There is a
splintering
As something more
alive breaks out
My oh so firm beliefs
can only hint and guess
Life is tearing
before me
Threads unravel, holes
appear
And just beyond
them
The Face of a man
WILF Nov 2015
After The Comma
AFTER THE COMMA
After the comma, a space
space to breath before the next words
But they didn’t come
Silence and darkness of spirit came
Life
Empty, lonely, meaningless
This was the perspective from where I crouched
Wherever this place was
However near, however far from God
One thing was still sure,
Love
Strangely in my darkness
I could still love and be loved
The sight of a friend brought light, my only light
In those days of crying to an absent God
Whom I had no means of knowing
Even if He had been present
In time, from out of time came a silent word
And my spirit began to wake from its coma
Fluttering like a wounded bird
Surprised and happy to be alive, to life, to God
Starting again to fly,
Wilf
Oct 2015
This is the partner to 'Sometimes This', published earlier
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