No war if Jaw Jaw in Paw Paw

Alpha Centauri’s get-one-free-sun
ouchyheat grains of grains
by made just once
livedomes of stone on stone.
You get dancedance food
and flesh touch,
making it the image sharp
for the big day
talk-talk in real time.

You can hover-stand
on parsec stretches
of screen-bright bone grains,
as silver-white as your promise chips.
Or face-like spoke words
in naked water
still ground-live
to non-download sounds
of laughing soft-bells
and diving light-flashes.

And why not stay
for practice-downtime to see what
Alpha Centauri’s get-one-free-sun
can offer for memory slides.
Take waveboats of breathing leaves
to islands of slow, splash-jump
among the spiked ribs
of first landing,
or walk in the shoal woods
as they shimsham
from beatbeat runners.
Because putting
the We in Power is worth it.


Extra Galactic Polarisation explained to Gardeners

Once all the gardens,
small ones on balconies
looking on to brick and slate,
big ones with lakes
where trees stand and admire,
were in a tiny, tiny seed.

They wriggled and waggled
trying to be friends with worms
and blackbirds who sang,
as flowers danced in bells
or gloves wearing just scent,
until the tiny, tiny seed went


Then each garden,
small ones with gnomes,
big ones with cantering deer,
pushed and rushed to be first
but the finishing line ran quicker
pulled on by big twisted rubber bands
until gardens went so fast-
birds flapped,
flowers nodded,
worms stole wriggles-
that they got very, very hot
and anywhere.

No garden knew that
because How-we-see
was the last to leave
and too shy to push past
so it stayed dark like
the back of a wardrobe
with coats around your ears.

Poor How-we-see cried
and cried so much
that it made the gardens,
small ones with pots and a wall,
big ones with ride on mowers,
get cold and dance to keep warm.

How-we-see ran in front
but tripped over the rubber bands
breaking them so all the gardens
stopped at the finish line
blinded by the colour of a summer’s day.

Now when gardens get dug,
small ones with a trowel,
big ones with a tractor,
you can still find the mist of How-we-see tears.
And some times
when blackbirds are quiet
and worms don’t wriggle
you’ll find the bounce of old rubber bands.

Published in Aphelion