Tag Archives: light



The darkness casts long its net tonight
The Beaver on its heels not yet fully alive
In the bite drop temperature inclining still
A notion breathes life and breeding beats.
The green sold out to cyclic adds its flourish of orange then red
And stepping tip tap to the black then white
The progress towards wherever is a destination
Spelt celestial in the flight taken path across THE satellite
While other routes marked for what is planned
A momentary passage and yet the one of man.

©The Hairy Teacher, March, 2018

I once dreamt

I once dreamt of something else
Not realizing it was somebody
And even when it became clear
I could never have said it was you!
It was only when I laid eyes upon you
That I realized in you my dream
All the darkness
Defined themselves in you.


© TheHairyTeacher2016

The Perfect Morning

The perfect morning.
The light spills from above in glorious white splendour
The air fresh, is vibrant, alive to the base requirement.
Birds chirp along in tennis-like mimicry
One-up-manship or just the way of things.
The tram draws me closer, soon to be beside her
To watch, to wonder, and to hope.


© TheHairyTeacher2016

The pub

It might not be somewhere over the rainbow
But it is somewhere out there…
Hidden from view but not ear,
A band of friends, perhaps conspirators?
They laugh beyond the cheery tune on the radio.
In here…
In here in this other room, the desolate one, where the desperate sit perched at the bar or in the darker corners,
typing on phones, reading newspapers, or staring into the half distance, finding the floor sometimes a good repose…
In here heads turn expectantly but nothing ever happens, only the songs on the radio are any indication of a better world out there –
Wherein resides “Daddy Cool”.
Even as the door opens a mumble is all that’s heard…
The aging barmaid streaming out,
Perhaps this rat has jumped the ship
And yet the open door promises change

And then…
“Itt a Babus” and the chatter begins.
The barfly awakens, the barmaid questions, another familiar enters…
And then the door closes.
Who is the desperate one now?
Alone in the phone-screen glow.

Blind Fate

Blind Fate

I would rather be it –
On earth tonight.
I would rather reign supreme
Than ever have fandangled promise
A sort of Damoclesian promise.
For sure it may be true,
But the tormenting doubt forever lurking?
Would that I would turn away from the flesh that binds
In favour of a faith so blind.
I may never live again and so must taste,
If anything, this life in all its ways.
And taste it pure and full
Not dull and in decay.
I must relish in my fears
Knowing life has always risk.
The life that has none is already death –
So defined by inconsequential evidence.
And so in light of sacrifice
I’ll topple my soul into the stream
And find the rhythm in the heat of things.
The passion, the forgiveness, all enraptured
Flowing as the current leads…

Towards the mouth, the opening.
I shall remember everything
My mistakes no less than my suffering .

A Day Is Rising

A Day Is Rising


In the morning light after dawn-glow purchase
The taste of chill as winter rises.
The dew residual dampens the ground
And sends sunshine sparkles a-dazzling round.
Footsteps plod and skip, all fall,
With weary minds and a child adventure.
The cursing klaxons, the red lights looming.
Urbania rising through the silence booming.
Lines of passengers all set to be
Like chaste and bridal tainted reverie.
The smiles, however, abstain- upended
As morning’s gloom quells caffeine pretensions.
Stray dogs and pigeons plot their day
In bays and coups, the best plans laid.
The beast in shuffle settles then
As noon day flow comes threatening.

The Hideaway

I’ve hidden in this place before, more exposed than truly hidden.
Revealed by an awkwardness, an intent, that didn’t fully flourish.
Now here unbound I can be myself, behind the music and the language,
Within the shadows and glow light, the half sense to write or just listen,
Till the pen balances thinking with drinking.
A crumpling of a coffee packet accompanying, as the music spills on into jazz, into life,
And the wonder at not understanding other people talk,
Takes nothing from the very fact that they are my company, and in theirs I revel in a notion of life, where my fantasies flourish.
I may be mistaken, even choosing to be so
And I allow the play its new act, my life a new scene, and the writer once more to reality.
(sound of pen dropping and beer slurping:))

In Life As In Love

In Life As In Love

We are all characters in somebody else’s book as well, as I in theirs, they are in mine, and so the cycle completes itself, the gentle interweave of thoughts and images; we are all still characters in someone else’s book, and she, for what it’s worth, was in mine.

It all began, as any story does, but when exactly is such a vagary that all I’ll say is it all began sometime before this, sometime, as you’d expect, in the past, seeing as any story must have its linearity to some degree.

When he heard her speak for the first time, she spoke English, but it could have been French, it was so heavily inflected. As it happened, after that she did, as they both did try French together with varying degrees of success. She spoke as she had to, he, as he wanted to, and this would come to define everything that they were.

She dressed simply, almost the prude, he drew his inspiration from rebellion: he dared to be different. She wore her hair short, cropped, a very conservative style. He left grow grow long, and somewhat unkempt. He had an image conveyed by his exterior. His interior it was that would finally betray him.

As they passed each other, met each other, chatted to each other, they found a path between them that dared to intertwine. She had smiled freely from the start but now he noticed the light in her eyes, he presumed a recent phenomenon, brought on by his own presence. He, too, felt a smile gain purchase on his face, and had even dared to think differently.
„If only she would be mine.”

One day followed the next into a framework of unfettered change. She became more sensual, more illustrious; he assumed, too, that she had begun to notice the change in him, for hadn’t he just then passed a witty remark. How intelligent he must seem. Beneath the veneer of apathy a man troubled with such existential matters truly existed.

One day became another and he built her up into the graven image of his thwarted soul, she would be the one to save him, redeem him- for whatever he had done, he had done wrong. She would be his right, his innocence; she would be the one to teach him love. “Oh sweet rebellious heart, that you may be salved by the unguent of my deepest love!” He thought, indeed, that she would matter.

One day not unlike another, busying himself with his indifference, trying to remain inconspicuous, he had spotted her in a crowd. She hadn’t even noticed him. He dared to think she didn’t care. She just hadn ‘t noticed him, but why? Perhaps it wasn’t even her, but it was. His tiny heart knew it. The flowers late in bloom made to shed their petals. He approached in his casual way. „Were those laughs for me?”, as he passed a table full of stangers.

“Hi, how are you?” the faintest whisper, his all alluring mystery.

“Hi. Who are you?” the abundant reply.


One day, like another, just passed by, just kept on going without a care. No need to stop, no need to pause, to reflect. Just on and on. Day after day, week after week. Life crumbled into an infinite void, no longer relevant. For she hadn’t even recognised him, not even after he had explained himself. She had been so cool; he the frigid fool, rendered inert. He had tried to be witty. She had smiled politely, then left. The next time she had come to the bar she had had an escort, 3 men, as if protection was necessary.

He didn’t know why. He hadn’t even noticed her. She meant nothing anymore. He would swear he had never thought of her again. And yet she would remain a part of his story as he a part of hers. His pain: that she had played her part well while he remained in hers just an extra, unnoticed, forgotten. He had even forgotten himself.




On the morning balcony
the pine tree guard looming all round
at the outpost of my vision on his perch
the dawn patrol is headed by this silhouette
somewhere far off his follwers respond
a chorus of recognition
nearby some jackdaws squabble over pittens
their squawks and chatter no less meaningful
a fly, persistent, buzzes by
and almost unrelenting before he moves off
the garden in the cooling shade
already feels the pending heat
the air moves sluggishly:
another hot day’s coming.


To hell with the darkness!

To hell with the light!

I’ll hide not in the daytime

Nor in the shadows of night.

Neither domain shall contain me

Neither one grant reprieve.

As a child of the infinite

In this realm I’m conceived.

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