One o’clock

I was fair once my lovelies.

Skin supple

wind murmured through my hair

shifting like the sighs of suckled babes

over my countenance

I breathed in the light of stars and galaxies

poured my grace into waterfalls

nuanced the mist that rose and wreathed with love

those who loved me then and were still to come.


Two o’clock

I embraced, starlight paled my skin,

life pulsed through the alveoli of trees

coursed in rivers bays and coves winkled with shells

teeming brimming boiling with fish weaving through greetings of weed

I lifted my arms to the arcane vault of the sky

my fingers fringed the horizon

teasing out moisture that misted my grateful mouth

I drank deeply at the pools glittering near my feet.


Three o’clock

In the profound dark of night swinging with thuribles of stars

spilling the light of aeons upon the tawny frogmouth

the wee green treefrog clinging to his pale branch

the ghostly curlicues of mist rising from the lake

trembling with a descant ring of joy intensely thrilling,

haloed in a wreath of light,

I called for union with my beloved

and oh it was here with me that the sons and daughters of heaven

sang the song that laid the cornerstone of life


Four o’clock

Casting thought in a vast arc

incandescent, swinging  high then low

two lights appeared; first sun to mark the day

then moon to mark the night

but more than this the lesser lights

the jokey glowworm happy with his bright bum

its cousin flitting firefly, the clattering click beetle,

and deeply in dark and cold waters

the crazy angler fish lit his reading lamp way

phosphorescent  drifts in oceans

luminescent squid trail like a mermaids hair


Five o’clock

Oh I was fair beloved!

My friends all, great and small teemed and gamboled

played artless games breathless with laughter

all enfolded in coruscating specks of light shivering in their time

in their ecstasy

so that all life knew

I was fair, so fair, beloved.


Six o’clock

On the promontory, with its hard basalt nose sticking out

I called them forth from the shimmering motes,

male and female they were, dove shy, still soft.

The rocks ground their teeth

rumbling subterranean cracks faulted in the mantle

like wayward children put to bed the bedcovers  of hills were ruched in folds

as all the earth moved and complained,

but I loved these two the best

I kissed them on the mouth and fed my words into them

I sang my love into their breasts

their swelling bodies rocked tumescent

and climaxed into knowing the we of I.


Seven o’clock

I saw him mark a rock with shapes and lines

to draw the hunt wherein the great beast was felled that day,

it spilled its blood upon the land fecund, verdant.

I saw woman shamed and into silence go

Hungering for a pelt to cover her lovely form.

Where then the fruit for you, the grain for you, the roots and tubers

vines flowers, the honey sweet for you?

I knelt and put that great head on my lap

swept aside the flies that crawled upon the darkened orbs,

the eyes that saw the pointed spears thrown

the cry so quickly choked by gushing blood

her knees collapsed and the earth received

the fall.


Eight o’clock

They work and build, they teem across the plains.

Numbers formulae plotting the course of stars

They sail, pirates in a caravelle

The great astrolabe of intelligence subjugates all matters

Mountains scaled rivers coursed and oceans crossed

Over everything they dominate and thrive

These children more like bees than hive

I stand and watch their monuments rise

A ziggurat a pyramid a tower marble statues to golden gods

I’m making lists as fast as I can go

Of these, my children’s tickets to eternity, posterity or glory-o.


Nine o’clock

Someone knocks; a hollow echo booms within, not knowing…

a sigh a cry a shout from without , I stay inside

curl in nimbus and cirrus, in the heat the wings of hummingbirds fan me,

it is getting late, still the din grows louder strident

clamouring, the sounds of hammers, the crackle and roar of fire

wailing of babies and groans of old men from outside my door

I go out.


Ten o’clock

From my hill I see them spread below, a multitude incalculable,

black brown yellow white pink, all these babies

reaching blind to things they can never see

I swallow them in to my eyes

peer into them with my mouth

and feel them with my heart,

they are one but legion mired in the diurnal round of fleshly cycles

they heave and struggle, take steel to finish off what gold didn’t take first

from the top of my hill I call out

“Don’t do to someone else what you don’t want done to you!”

I feed them but

like cells the crowd divides,

meiosis untrammeled and a mad malignancy is born.


Eleven o’clock

I’m woken by an immense light for seconds brighter than my soul

The stones cry out,

trees scream in the horror of being ripped from the womb of earth

The juddering teeth of rocks grinds and will not stop

cooked fish flood the land the animals birds flowers

the wee green tree frog

the tawny frogmouth

the doe eyed creatures great and small

The cricket in his dark hole playing his legs

The bison slaughtered in a sticky sickening sea

The hacked and cracked slapped crushed macerated chunks of my children

The ice plains crack, the glaciers slide, they melt, they steam,

the turning of all

From all it was into all it is

The great rape has begun .


 Three minutes to twelve

What to do what to do what to do what to do

I have sent my best, my lions, my horsemen,

the great beast with eyes multifocal

I waved away the great prostitute with my bloodied loin cloth

I walked on the marches

Suffered in the prisons

When you were lashed, spat on and hung, I too,

When the incandescent bombs were strapped on making a red smear

Of you , I was incandescent too.

I have whispered in the dreams of men

Turned them unholy cowards in their sweaty beds

I have trumpeted warnings in your news

As the floods came

As the storms turned their eyes

upon babies whimpering under beds

And giant hands dragged them into towns collapsing in wave after wave

Sweeping them up trees turning them in wire prisons

Rolling them in the depths like crocodile snacks

You shake and wonder murmur what next what now what will happen

I tell you

I tell you

I tell you this

Half from one

Two from four

Four from eight

In an exponential chain

It will not abate

It will not stop

until my face is fair again.



























  1. Re read today and bravo, again. Your words bring forth the essence and imagery both of humanity’s potential, and our spiritual failure. Poetic genius IMHO. I love too the depth, colour and mysticism of that painting. I hope there is a series . . . 🙂


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