bardiphouka: (chair)
Welcome to the Square and Springtime,
Santa with wheeled luggage boards the Airport shuttle,
his long white beard and the white knob of his hat
doing an improve dance in the wind.
There are people walking in and out of the afternoon shadows
some of them talking to each other
some talking through their buds or bluetooth for mobiles
some of them talking to the small were once and might have beens
that hide from the earth inside collars.

A woman dressed in cotton and age stands and
feeds the pigeons scraps of foreign poetry for this
is the Square and Springtime
bardiphouka: (chair)
Verdant

Each Spring
has its own shade of green.
The Spring
she died did not change that.
Or the rain
or the Sunshine
or anything

but the colourless space left in my heart.
That only hopes there will be a Spring
with her shade of green
where she will not be dead. 
bardiphouka: (chair)
Weather

The weather wears you
in all the songs it carries
across the day
across the night.

The weather wears you
wraps sun and storm around
the secrecy of what makes you you
that shapes you in and out

The weather wears you,
welcomes you to the world,
breezes next to you and yours
those same breezes whispering

a soft farewell as you move
beyond weather and yourself.
bardiphouka: (chair)
rags

Lovers and dreamers
and other truths and lies.
they come and go without knowing
they are each of them their own book.
Only waiting the feel of the rag content and
the scent of the pages as they turn, the
pages that are full
of lovers and dreamers.
bardiphouka: (chair)
Grey

The sky is a cluster of grey variations
There is an emptiness where the birds would be,
full of song and choreography but now they
are tucked inside nests and trees and buildings

This is the silence that clears a path to the Storm.
Even now I remember those paths, feeling the calm
that goes before the building, sitting in the tall grass
outside the woods outside
a world that carries its own storms.
But I can remember

sometimes I can wrap myself away from the concrete
Storm with its decaying by remembering the
green and grey and silence.
bardiphouka: (chair)
15 April,1945

Regardless of all the myths and legends
and monsters we have created under the bed,
nobody was ready for this.
A world which suddenly smelled of pain and ash and blood.
bodies stacked upon each other as if they were
bad sentences in a story of horror without end.

Death city after death city uncovered
in the Spring of Hell returning home
this time at east. The bodies wrapped around
each other in stillness.
And the skeletons walking slowly, slowly
and finding the one word they had thought impossible.

the possibility of Tomorrow.
bardiphouka: (chair)
6AM

21st Century visigoths gather in aimless waves
leaderless they ebb and flow against the hotel doors
waiting for tourists and business men. but
the truth is the tattered jackets and plastic bag apartments
are accessories. What these people have become are
the ghosts of the individuals they would have
grown to in time.  A world where hope is not drowned
in the desolation and drugs that have become their all.
bardiphouka: (chair)
Loving Cup

Live as a child is a series of adventures
that we both remember and forget depending
on where life and dreaming leaves us off.
scattered in the tall trees and high blossoms
had been houses, come and gone over the centuries.
on weekends we would shuffle through bracken looking
for the impact of civilisation on the mountains.
One weekend we were cowboys and indians chasing each other
through famous battles when we say a glistening.

Buried in the dark loam was a loving cup. An old design
with lettering only vague by now.
An award won by someone or such decades ago at least.
It was Paddy decided the mountain deserved the trophy.

I had wondered if he ever won a trophy on his own.
Although later I heard he did not return from the Falklands.

Lately I have been thinking of the load and forests and the
cool mountains and the treasure hunts
that led us to find, without knowing it, the treasures of friendship.
bardiphouka: (chair)

there are too many and too few syllables in Haikus
to describe or define you in the growing days when
I dream of the yes and yes and yes again trying
to ignore the silence that I know daylight will bring.

bardiphouka: (chair)

Life

Life, at times, pays no attention to you,
It knows that the time will come
as it always does when you will throw it over
for its younger sibling Death.

For Life is, after all, the older of the two.
There could be no death without life.
but there will come a time when you smile at something
a rainbow, a bad joke, the unexpected largesse of a lover

and Life, being Life
will forgive you for what you have not yet done.

bardiphouka: (chair)

Spring

This is not that Spring when
I lived on music and the largess of
coffee houses and motel chains.
mostly the latter until the music
got upset and withdrew the reason for the
music in my life as it were and like
this Spring where I have been left
alone in ways I could not know and
there is no music whispering.

bardiphouka: (chair)

April 11-2015

there are too many and too few syllables in Haikus
to describe or define you in the growing days when
I dream of the yes and yes and yes again trying
to ignore the silence that I know daylight will bring.

Apad 7-2015

Apr. 7th, 2015 07:58 pm
bardiphouka: (chair)
Is this a dream or realities slipping?

Is this a dream or realities slipping?
Sylvia Plath is in the kitchen
sipping tea from a cup I broke decades ago.
She is looking at the oven as though
she had found a long lost lover.
It is however, dear Sylvia, an electric oven.
Useless to the promotion of life and death
Like the empty chair next to me she will not look at
bought when there was a dream of reality growing.

APAD 6-2015

Apr. 6th, 2015 08:04 pm
bardiphouka: (chair)
water and the tin

Stale biscuits in a tin,
stuck in my messenger bag
with other poems.

I never eat them, I just
carry them back and forth
from red brick to glistened green.

where the river runs brown and turgid
spreading out to the banks as though
hungry for the stale biscuits

even though I might be needed to go with
breath and thoughts of you
pull me back in the sunset

and the rattle of stale biscuits
in a tin of dubious history
and unsure futures.

APAD 3

Apr. 3rd, 2015 09:08 pm
bardiphouka: (chair)
This is Now

This is the road shimmering in water

shimmering in ripples of water

There are small California pools

that whisper across my shoes as I walk

in the off again on again rain.

This is not your cold moments

or my alone moments

This is Now

This is the road shimmering in waters

APAD 2

Apr. 2nd, 2015 08:40 pm
bardiphouka: (chair)
Even without Strangers

Do not approach the night like a lover.

The night, like any unknown city, is

capricious to the best and worse

Its politics are full of darkness and swirling

winds as the rain applauds its validity.

Even without strangers the night is

not pretending to be anyone's family..

There is a rough rumble of thunder and the life

of night is split for a moment by lightning

revealing how much you may never see.

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