At His House
In my friend's face it's not easy to separate
what's serenity, what's despair.
What the mouth suggests the eyes correct,
and what looks like acceptance
is a kind of détente, the world allowed
to encroach only so far.
At his house, we put aside
the large questions: Is there? And if so?
replace them with simple chores.
We bring vegetables in from the garden.
We shuck corn. Is it possible
to be a good citizen without saying a word?
Both his wives thought not, wanted love
to have a language he never learned.
He'd make wine for them from dandelions.
Sundays he'd serve them breakfast in bed.
In his toolbox he was sure he had a tool
for whatever needed to be fixed.
The deed reveals the man, he says.
I don't tell him that it's behind deeds
he and I often hide.
I've got a face for noon, a face for dusk,
a fact he lets slide. Both of us think friendship
is about what needn't be said.
It seems we're a couple of halves, men
almost here, hardly there. At his house less
feels good. I always come back for more.
Stephen DunnEverything Else in the World
Something Beautiful
(time yet again for a celebration of all things beautiful, simple, and pure- london style).
bridges, amourous affection under the trees at kensington garden, stumbling upon houses where marvels lived, steeples that are too tall to take in one picture, string lights in alleyways, the rain, metal fans, orange ribbon, gerbera daisies, portobello saturdays, 43 clanricarde gardens, cheers, tuna and sweetcorn triangle sandwiches, "jessie bags", being mooned-twice, stores that sell just socks, stores that sell expensive clothes, fair trade, westbourne road, 99p pizza, 22 hyde park gate, a walk in st. james park, my new pink dress, stockings and caps, double decker busses (of course), pebble beaches, ice lollies, 48 chimneys on one roof, other peoples gardens, retro woman, vegetarian options, mobile world mobile phones, when the circle line runs smoothly (this happens once a week at the most), the chelsea deli, internet cafe's, the internet cafe on our roof (hehe), a taste of home, starbucks' silly drink codes, pences pounds notes and quid, a to zed, the red door of the bunac office, double lattes, "i don't see the ice," and "hide the weeeeed, maaan," (which came from an employ in the freezer the other day), statues, choc. fondue covered fruit and sweets, the brighton pier, the search for the perfect flat, Elephants and Castle adventures, tea with milk, jack of potatoes, oxford circus on a saturday, exhibitionist bicycle rally's, pubs, meeting some cool chaps from the elected, getting lost for groceries, winding up in camden market (one of the coolest markets ever), laundromats that charge £5 a wash (eeks!), phil teaches us the secret about herbet the electricity machine, losing my nose ring but christy's promise to get pierced with me, phone calls from mom about the queen, royal watching (it's a sport for tourists), chapstick and black boogers (sp?), shoes shoes shoes shoes shoes, the metro and evening standard, world cup madness, ingerland, planning trips to see the world, finding dandelions while talking to joe, talking to joe (in general), posting the mail instead of mailing it, franking instead of stamping, meeting people from arkansas, art museums, street performers, street artists, church yards, gothic cathedrals, walking on the left, standing on the right, wearing a jumper everyday, umbrella as an essential, and finally (but of course, there is no end to this list) - enjoying every moment with friends and knowing there is nowhere else you should be but here.
Discussion on the Romantic
I am trying to tell her
that the coffee in her mug
with the string of bulbed lights
reflecting in her reflection
on the tin table with the discarded
shoes in the alley, red and white,
the way she is tapping her hand
against the handle is romance.
She grits her teeth when discussing
art and politics and the nature
of reading in a park and I try
not to show a grimace at her ignorance.
We mismatched our table cloths
in a state of rebellion.
Rebel against the Queenshe nodded
Rebel against the Warshe cried.
I quoted Dickens on the road
up here and said that this is enchantment
and this is where we are going.
She sits still and calm, witnessing
the walls closing, tapping nervously
on the table. The cigarettes are romance.
How? Because of the way she holds them.
I don't see it. Then you are blind.
Sweet Sweep of Blue Grass
I am sipping sky
from the bowl of my hands
left feeling full bodied, completed,
running, with loose
clothing catching in branches,
I want to die, I wante to die,
right here in the sweet sweep
of blue grass with clouds spinning
around my head, warmth
tossed to my hair, to my body
full breasted and legged.
I want to die in the warmth
not the shadow--half living
half in peace like on the shore,
water pulling over me,
breath receding, a shy sexual encounter
shuddering on the weight of its pull
breathless from the loss it leaves,
until my eyes open into the white
of sun and like a dove
I sing slow a song bringing life.
This is the reason why i don't support the US doing anything harmful to anyone else. why do we allow people to go uneducated about war? about life? why do we allow people to murder the innocent when they have no understanding of what they do?
my heart cries every single day when i think about why were are doing this. Lord take me away from this place. I hate it here.
http://jang.com.pk/thenews/mar2006-daily/13-03-2006/world/w1.htm
