Balaam, from My Mother is an Old Elephant

I rest under no roof.
I am the dusty traveller,
the journey, the road,
the pothole and the hoof.
I am Balaam and the voice I hear
is my breathing creature
plodding on,
eating straw,
seeing angels.
 

Visiting Mum

Here's one of my poems from my collection My Mother is an Old Elephant, available on Amazon here, or see the Poems section.

Visiting Mum

She lies down all the time now,

turned by kind hands,

living in the space

between her face

and this plain wall,

sometimes understanding

I’m here beside,

other times dispersed

among the floating radio waves,

out upon the voiceless tide.

With each ebb the angels keep a little more.

With each flow, a little less returns to shore.