Pylons

Angels over the Westcountry
The tide waning
It wants to wane
A weakening before it strengthens again
Cows foretell the whispering velvet monogamy
Secrets kept in a box of mohogany
Noble house, unkempt bay window
A view of ancient druglike hedge
Rare golden bird nesting
in Shiva's painted blue den
Solid foundations, wrought iron
industry fades in
A TV flickers image noise on the train
silence while we stop and regather
I bring myself to see the zen in these bolts
People in the station
The whole holy whirl of weekend colour
Artist friends gathered to combine energies
Indigo massive girlface
Whitman and Ginsberg represented
My Madonna and Child a curtain of violet purple orange
Sigils for a better life for mine own
England I'm not sure if I love you
I feel the call of India in my loins
Together we will revolutionize
dinner party valley
Return O Goddess to your chosen land!
I am an Arthur of old
Making my way thru this island
I will plant my sword in the earth
and shout to the gods
Only Buddha responds with a single word
for it seems pan is gone,
his flute rarely heard in the goat meadow now

- on the train from Bristol after Upfest June 2010