For a man who had a big heart, I hope the sea is warm and you swim peacefully and freely now.  You taught me so much in the brief time I knew you, and now so much in discovering your passing.  It was a privilege to have met you.  My thoughts are with your beloved family and friends who live on.  Thank you Jonathon. Jonathon Joyce, 1971-2013,

Verdigris Door

A verdigris door -
the rain finds its way through the painted surface,
revealing the wooden frame.

The detail of the panelling
suggests carpentry
of another time.

Wood touched,

The door stands on its hinges,
closed tight with weathered,
blustery pose.

The interior of the door
is currently unavailable;
like a lift out-of-order.

Its closedness says it all;
a silent turquoise soliloquy.
A psychedelia of reality,
presence to its contrary.

The air jaundiced with memory,
the door remains complete in its
absurd normality.

The more present the door appears,
the less the door isn’t there.

Leaves surround the door’s step;
paper-like, golden,
ochre, brown sugar shades.

Watching the doorway in search of a figure
in the literal;
but the literal is figurative.

Eyes are closed in
unmediated immersion.

The verdigris door
is a verdigris door.

The Stretch

The stretch brings up pangs
of pins and needles.
The masochistic tickle,
as the muscles exude their nimbleness.

The innards try to come outwards
in a pleasurable movement.
Peering out,
the wide yawn of the skin.

The crack in the day,
allows for the legs to touch the floor.
The floor gives way,
the stretch is no more.