Marking Time

October 22, 2019

Marking time

For some fitter crime

Visitors here are hanging



A vacuum of assorted blether


And the Justice time

Presides, perfects astride, instructs

A hidden jury sat at work one side


Their janitorial ceremony lection  

On life, on place, like surgeons whetted blades



Their probate operation making good and true


Infarcted hearts

Vascular flows constricted in the inner parts

Of money, gaming issues, made up weighted

Lading bills

Exhorting and importing all cognate behaviours

Impelling and expelling men’s displaced face-savers


Calling out various casual stations in the working day

Sometimes to turn aright, sometimes to turn away

And nothing won, nor nothing entered-in

Without due tribute


Unceasing nature gathering wins befitting kindling

So slow towards a lonely house she staggers

The offices of time well weather us more southerly

Consorting in a brawny youth,

With laughter in our prime  

Maintaining ineffectual chase to fell eventual age

One last small whistle at the merry railings

As trains, and boats, and pearly aeroplanes

Return their weary learning


Teach destination stopovers enter-in fare costs

Each former furlough, visa, at the last possessed

For good and ill

So ends this paradise-turned-foreigner freewill


Allure assures, murmurs, proves redolence

Blinking predications future from dilated eyes

Heart strictures deficit the tutored ear


A gin to pour more fruit for resolution


A plainsong introduces,

And longs one’s salad days’ missed maiden grasses

Fits moan upon our firmest face supposes

And strays along here, when a wimpling courses

And strains of passing places sing

Your pause has foundered on


Tempered; a small mandate affair for olden chants,

Bursts automatically a rout of free fresh air

Of birdsong chattering  

Loudly its dimpled sound reforms a patterned selfhood

Making an easy line design to outlast easeful death


Whose stink one moment hankered in the stone cold tune

Most notably

Time’s turbid teachings breaching there the ramparts

Preachers can’t reach


Beyond a veiled suggestive and reflexive conscious dream,

A drink who think so - is it praise or folly?

A little pillow story

That fantasy should shower greens on winter’s holly?


Bazaars are stars who dance an unabated subject matter

A limpid spirit overfills capillaries

And all the toils of time are homeworks handed-in