Echo November, Part three,WIPIn Canada, last Autumn
we dredged the pool, me and you
then when the moon set
and the earth rose to meet its get
we, it was we, who sat beneath the eves
Drank our fill did we, caused a scene
Made your old man ill.
He was sick for days.
In the hollow,
behind the pool
we were lying, still and moving
oh so subtley
What were you scared of in there
The leaves? Dead leaves
leave no ghosts, just lie next to me
and be still, let the night come.
When we awoke,
I was still dreaming
You with head hung low, scheming
after the night had passed
in the hollow, where we had whispered
now we spoke aloud and censored.
I hated it so.
Sitting beneath a tree,
Inches away from everything.
We were reduced to you and me.
The world was sinking slowly
to be sure, and as the moonlight
played, your eyes glittered in the dark
spaces of what I would childishly,
stuck for another word,
call my heart.
The bonfire flared a
Echo November, part two, a WIPIt was a gift you said, I see
so many things between the pages.
I see death in all ages
I see the breath left in you and me
It is so simple, is it not?
Before I am old and ashen
before I am forgot
before I am lost in the garden
I would like to live a little
You live a lot,
can you spare a piece for me?
The blurb read, the book had said
so many things, many unrepeatable.
Will you come and see me? I could
not, cannot, believe what I was reading
or speaking, or thinking about,
I could not control my hands, shaking
making errors on their own
It was late, too late
Not on your own?
The book was so smart anyway.
I was alone, I must have walked miles that day
and every day before and since
the kids, if kids they were,
had the run of the place,
a warren, or a den.
Flowers hidden everywhere.
Every corner on every street, ever alleyway
and canteen, hostel door way,
led to something new, something sweet.
Echo November, first part, WIPI wore the dead mans jacket
I wore the dead mans jeans
I wore the dead mans shirt
I carried his watch
His wallet, his dues
and all kinds of things that were in his pockets,
they all were mine now.
I stood there in his shoes
inhaled deeply from the breeze that had
bore him thus far - No more.
Palmed the phone: Nobodies phone,
for there was no-one to call.
The tone, it was dead
The display said 'no signal'
Which only would have mattered
had there been someone to call.
The dusk capsized into the ink bottle sky
the tattered rag twisted in the wind across the sky
the cat chittered at it's long dead bones
the frayed end of days drew home
the trees laughed silently, in unison
for that which lived beneath them
would only die
feed their roots
some pleaded for mercy,
but their only reply
was the rustle of dead leaves.
In the car the clock had stopped
the engine ceased to function
which only partly functioned