Holy Ghostburn

The Bield - Perthshire - 2010

(Here's a piece written in response to Andrew Philip's call for poets to write about their holiday reading, which in itself was a response to an article in The Guardian, I think, notable for its absence of holiday poetry titles.)

Not so much a holiday . . . more a . . .

retreat retreat retreat

retreat retreat retreat

retreat retreat retreat

retreat retreat retreat

retreat retreat retreat

retreat retreat retreat

retreat retreat

retreat retreat

retreat

retreat

Thomas A. Clark in a walled garden paradise with a cat on my lap lazily sharpening its claws on my thigh; Thomas A. Clark before and after a long walk through hazy woods, stopping to sit on a bench in a bower while red deer leap through wheat fields skirting the trees; Thomas A.Clark as I walk the stony path back to the retreat house, small birds skirling a network of whistles in the hedgerow.

THE HUNDRED THOUSAND PLACES

....................................................

....................................................

....................................................

....................................................

.................................................... x100,000

The lady who runs the retreat house asked to see my book. Perhaps she expected an old contemplative classic, perhaps something by Thomas Merton or Henri Nouwen. I told her it was a book of poetry. I told her I was a poet.

“Really?” she said, “How wonderful!”

A book about walking, mindfully.

His walk

My walk

His walk

My . . .

walk

wauk

wok

wind

waak

wawk

awk

wack

waulk

wind

wlka

wak

wuak

kwo

kwa

kaw

wind

The green grass glowing. The huge sequoia drum trunk. The labyrinth, in and out of myself. The girl with the burn marks all down her face and arms, stumps for hands. Lying in the grass as rain clouds gathered overhead. Walking, mindfully. Listening, mindfully, Reading, mindfully.

I finished the book that weekend, and it added to the experience of retreat, of silence. And it made me want to find a place to be like this constantly. In the HUNDRED THOUSAND PLACES, at once, one by one, as the mind stretches outside time and into singularity of experience. Only the poets can speak of this.

womiggge

Mars Oil

Harmonium

cat/caught

all those dreams
oceans

the most hideous scream
tearing at the curtains

demon demon demon demonstrate

When I saw you talking to my mother I expected a novelty embrace. Your mind is full of art stars and mood music. Creativity claps then collapses at the first sign of industry.

We spin to a magnanimous karma and your ripe cheeks and tumbling hair have poured into my life at the most opportune moments. I remember when you fasted for my father.

berries

berries

a lunar eclipse

There are parallels, I know, circles and shapes that bespeak an elegant geometry.

Tell me how you were delivered.

Tell me how they brought you home.

Tell me how they nursed you.

A decaying mansion sits on the water while the sun fires the hillside sound of laughter in the garden.

cat/cat/boat/harmonium

Cell Crust

Sprout Nook

Angel Dust

Granite

Magpie'd (For Greg Evason)

not only
is she
dismissive
of my
perception
of the world's
constituent parts
but she seems
to want to
impose the matter
on me though
cold outside &
wet for june
with train tracks
running behind the
out patient's clinic
how easy to escape
the margins
without even
bothering
to inform the
pharmacist
magpies
gently
hallucinating
summer

It Didn't Take Long

OK the quickest comeback since Ali, or Sinatra. I couldn't stay away. A blogger has to blog regardless of quality, reputation, blood sugar level. Afterlights forever!

A Bit o' News

I probably won't be blogging for a while. I think it's come to the end of the road for now. I'm going to keep afterlights open and I may return to it at some point, but, for the time being, I'll only be publishing in journals, where possible of course, and will keep interested readers informed through Facebook. So thanks for following and cheerio for now. It's been fun!

Starry Rhymes

I've got work in this exciting anthology of Ginsberg tributes. Go buy yourself a copy!

Jah Flood

A piece at Moria, with two more in the sequence following:

Amazon Jungle Poem

plan
plan
plant

ant
planet

plant
planet

plane
plane
plaint

ant
plane

taint
plan

tonsure

t t t t t t t
t t t t t t
t t t t t
t t t t
t t t
t t
t