Year: 2015

Goose Summer

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When a late November goose
down day, warm and dry,
becomes over years
a filmy substance
a ballooned thread,
fly fish cast into the void,
 
a winter veil
nets your face
in the garden
or down the lane,
dew bling breath
in stubbled fields,
 
a warm spell of spiders
among the ice.
 
A strange movement
of language from
goose summer
to gossamer,
as if it has lost weight,
 
under plumage,
thinned with the years
into one word,
to soft filaments,
blown on a breeze,
 
the decomposed dead,
spider thread.
 
ALTERNATIVE VERSION
 
When a plump late November goose
down day, warm and dry,
becomes over years
a filmy substance
a ballooned thread,
fly fish cast into the void,
 
a winter veil
nets your face
in the garden
or down the lane,
dew bling breath
in stubbled fields,
 
a warm spell of spiders
among the ice.
 
A strange movement
of language from
goose summer
to gossamer,
as if it has lost weight,
a cloud into contrail,
 
under plumage,
thinned with the years,
beggared
into one word,
to soft filaments,
blown on a breeze,
 
the decomposed dead,
spider thread.

NB

GOSSAMER
c. 1300, “filmy substance (actually spider threads) found in fields of stubble in late fall,” apparently from gos “goose” (see goose (n.)) + sumer “summer” (see summer (n.)). Not found in Old English. The reference might be to a fancied resemblance of the silk to goose down, or more likely it is shifted from an original sense of “late fall; Indian summer” because geese are in season then. Compare Swedish equivalent sommartrad “summer thread,” Dutch zommerdraden (plural). The German equivalent mädchensommer (literally “girls’ summer”) also has a sense of “Indian summer,” and there was a Scottish go-summer “period of summer-like weather in late autumn” (1640s, folk-etymologized as if from go). Thus the English word originally might have referred to a warm spell in autumn before being transferred to a phenomenon especially noticeable then. Compare obsolete Scottish go-summer “period of summer-like weather in late autumn.” Meaning “anything light or flimsy” is from c. 1400; as a type of gauze used for veils, 1837. The adjective sense “filmy, light as gossamer” is attested from 1802.
From online etymology site.

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The Fireworks Bird

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The fireworks bird steals the golden apples
 of the sun in the dark, startles them
 into a whoosh, a bang, crackle, fizz, swirl,
 whistle, flash, burst, sputter, hiss, whizz,

 a cornucopia of colours, toffee-apple
 sweet, pie and peas hot, bonfire
 toffee gooey flicks out molar fillings,
 write your name with sparklers night.

 The fireworks bird lights its nest
 of collected wood and a penny for the stuffed Guy Fawkes to blaze into a grey ash circle morning,
 damp earth and empty explosives.

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Re egret

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Where sea breezes gust woodland leaves
 beneath a rookery of white birds
 a midden of whitewash, an empty page, broken eggs, white feathers,
 dead birds not yet fox food.

 Shattered shells are not broken pottery.
 There is no bravery or stupidity here.
 White feathers are just white feathers,
 birdshit fertilises roots.

 If no clarity to the folio of water
 when it hunts,
 with a blade for a beak,
 neck extended, the white bird
 walks slowly with frequent halts
 to stand, stir its feet in the mud,
 to inspire an image, a word,
 its prey to move.

 If no prey is seen
 it may stir again
 or move on

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Hallowtide

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SOON BE TIME

[MEDIA=soundcloudembed]soundcloud.com/paul_laurence/soon-be-time[/MEDIA]

Received English version

Watch yourself as it’ll soon be time
that the tall hawthorn hedge
that bars you from other worlds
becomes thin this season
in it’s cloud ghosted ditch
so folk from the other side
can bleed through to ours
and you’ll see these weird folk
walk outside your door.

 Burn a candle in your home
 and light lanterns, jack o’lanterns,
 candles outdoors to show
 the weird folk, spirits and all
 the direct way back. We don’t
want them to detour where
they are not welcome. Respect them
 and they’ll respect you.

 This night light a fire
 in your hearth
 to protect yourself
 or better yourself.

 Write on a scrap a paper
 a part of your life
 that you wish to be rid off,
 such as anger, a baneful habit,
 misplaced feelings, disease.

 Throw it in the flame
 so you may lose
 that part you’re ashamed of

Yorkshire Dialect version

Watch thee sen as time fetches on
as tall hawthorn hedge that bars
tha from t’other worlds
in its cloud ghosted ditch
gets thin this season so as folk
from other side can fetch them
sens over an bleed through to ours
and tha’ll see these weird folk
take a stride outside thee door.

Blaze a candle in tha home
and set a flicker lanterns, jack o’lanterns,
candles outdoors to show
the weird folk, spirits and all
direct way back to where
they bide from, so as they don’t
detour where they’re not welcome.
Respect them, they’ll respect thee.

This night light a fire
in tha hearth
for to protect thee sen
or better thee sen.

Scribe on a scrap a paper
a part of thee life
tha wish to be rid on
anger, a baneful habit,
misplaced feelings, disease.

Lob it int flame
so tha may lose
that part tha ashamed on.

THIS SAMHAIN, ALL HALLOWS EVE

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on your table place a skull,
small animal skeletons
of shrews, mice, rats disgorged by
forest owls. Lay your gravestone
rubbings as welcome placemats.

Down the centre carved pumpkins,
squash, carrots, swede amongst pine nuts,
walnuts and berries, and dark
breads, rye, pumpernickel, dried
yellow, red leaves, open fir cones.

Fill a cornucopia
with abundant fruit, apples, pears,
leeks. Fill each cup with apple cider,
sweet wine, or honey mead.

Light all with fragrant candles,
to flicker over the plenty.

The table is a thankyou,
a blessing on the goodness.

Go outside, collect dead plants,
to twist and turn and mold a man
or woman to bring inside,
and place on the table.

Give thanks to them and your dead
ancestors before you eat.

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This Samhain

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on your table place a skull,
 small animal skeletons
 of shrews, mice, rats disgorged by
 forest owls. Lay your gravestone
 rubbings as welcome placemats.

 Down the centre carved pumpkins,
 squash, carrots, swede amongst pine nuts,
 walnuts and berries, and dark
 breads, rye, pumpernickel, dried
 yellow, red leaves, open acorns.

 Fill a cornucopia
 with abundant fruit, apples, pears,
 leeks. Fill each cup with apple cider,
 sweet wine, or honey mead.

 Light all with fragrant candles,
 to flicker over the plenty.

 The table is a thankyou,
 a blessing on the goodness.

 Go outside, collect dead plants,
 to twist and turn and mold a man
 or woman to bring inside,
 and place on the table.

 Give thanks to them
 before you eat.

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cold surface

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We do not make love
 when every spring
 in the bed is an uncomfortable
 truth.

 Before you sleep
 I massage your face.
 It is alabaster.
 I kiss its cold surface.

 As routine demands
 you turn your back
 on me, pull
 the duvet towards you.

 I smooth the duvet
 into your curves,
 and kiss the meshed fibres,
 where once, years ago,
 I would have smoothed
 your hot nakedness.

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absurdity in the bathroom

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Our lasses shower gel
 is Liver and Onions,
 mine is Curried Chips.

 Afterwards, spray myself
 with Bangers and Mash
 deodorant, splash on
 Dog’s Bollocks anti-perspirant.

 Our lass will dab on
 Deep Fried Mars Bar eau
 de toilette, and Minging
 No. 5.

 For lunch in the bathroom
 I have Ginseng and Black Pepper.

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fetch and send

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fetch day in from the porch
 it’s had enough
 of cloudiness
 and going to blazes

 send night over threshold
 let it mess
 with flesh
 and turn its blind eye.

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clouds are mouths

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the earth is the sole
 of a giant boot
 that forever presses
 us into sky
 as if we were insects

 we cling to the grip
 of the outsole
 fearful of the fall
 into the mouths of clouds.

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commital

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White autumn mist hangs gently
in the valley as I walk
down the steep hill
a philip’s screwdriver
in my inside pocket
for if the casket has to be opened.
I wish to recall every detail.

Carry Nana’s ashes in a pine casket,
secured by six philip screws
with four thin white strings attached,
held on by six gold pins
and this in a brown cardboard box
that has her name printed in black felt tip
on one of its leaves,

and this in a strong red paper
carrier with two gold rope like handles,
and I am surprised how heavy
it is in my hands and have to bend
my knees to pick it up. It squeaks
like new shoes when I walk.

Careful not to lose
the certificate of cremation,
I stand at the bus stop
opposite the half completed

new estate of houses built
on land I knew last year
as a cornfield where discarded
energy cans and crisp bags
lined the edge.

I walk up the hill
to the church to meet the vicar
dressed in white with gold detailing.
He asks ” Do you want the casket
to be lowered in the grave
by the verger or yourself?”
I give my answer.

I lay the casket on the Lord’s table
as requested, the vicar speaks
of the resurrection and the life,
quotes revelation about the lamp
and the world without night.

I follow him and verger
down the hill of graves
past bushes full of bright red berries,
brown mushrooms flourishing
on rotten soaked wood,

kneel on the green rubber kneeler,
beside the prepared hole
under an oak tree in leaf fall
and lower the casket down
with the white string,

the gold of her nameplate
on top of the casket contrasts
with the dark clayey soil.
We say the Lord’s prayer.

Verger leaves the earth
on the grave slightly raised
so it may settle, agrees
to green bin my cardboard box

and paper carrier. I shake
his hand and say “Thankyou.”
Walk down the hill to the bus.
No screwdriver was needed.

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