Dada is not understood, Dada is not listened to, Dada is not heeded. Dada is subverted, it is corrupted by other forms which seem easier and so take hold. Yet it still claims to be, and so pollutes Dada. Yet the name carries force, and so it is stitched on to its … More The Death of Dada
Cold water, Sitting above clay. In the darkness remains The sign of work. Once a pit of resource, Now a pond of calm water. Agitated by swimmers on the surface, Yet unmoving at the bottom, Save the sinking debris of spent life. So do you feel like a dip, In the old clay … More A Summer’s Swim
Take down the china unseen for days, Dust off the saucer crispened by its glaze. Hunt out the tea entombed in steel, Measure out a dose for this is a big deal. Follow the ritual every mornings ordeal. But once the work is done, the tea amber against white. Drink, Drink eager … More Tea
Why is it, That emptiness begets itself? Silence echoes, without a sound. As the void grows. When I write, It is written. But on those days I don’t Nothing is read. Why is it so?
I see Mr Gray, clad in a grey suit. Reading as his train pulls in, To Reading. He wishes to meet his companions, Featherstonehugh and Fanshaw, to discuss meat prices. English grips, confuses and allures.
The water flows, The sand ripples, The darkness lies, The sun retreats. The water flows, I walk on, Seawards towards the smooth black. The water flows, The sky reflected, Knees are wetted, As I go on. The water flows, I see my mood, The mind is calmed, Must I go on?
Flies tacking geometric flight. Hanging in the warm air, walking set paths, through the immaterial. Back and forth. To and fro. Mapping lines, on an empty map.
Sun hanging over head beats down. Earth is dry, cracked and hard. The air is still, the heat remains. Growing sultry, radiating back up, unmoved by wind.
Moisture renting the sky Asunder. Heavy air, Casting downwards earthwards. Skywards turn the birds. Thunder has silenced, rain plays a melody. The storm has come.
Everyday Dada 