The Walker’s Hymn

The ancestors of the moor parlay as i move
in the nature of silent warring trees shattering fear
where feral ghosts escort muddy flowers among angels
and hollow shadows joke in the honeycombs of silence
and i walk neither away or towards swearing owls
as the taxiing melody of time fades all imagined strife
and says behind unmuzzled banter the words of peace
yellow green fields rip below shades of wildened sky
and balliol hymns attack all voiceless paupers spitting
in the same havoc of whiskey pouring down a window
letting the glass know it’s not afraid of dancing alone
since as long as there are limbs in the universe’s joke
miscreants throw down comets like tomorrow’s waltz
and calve a throat from the tempest in my veins
that bring alight the respect of never stepping back
and waking from seasons of riot to walk all bridges

Slumbering warm mists of blue suns beating above
God’s deck of cards shuffle as he deals madmen
a full house of summer & winter combining the British din
gently polluting the railway lines with dreams
where sanity dwells in street castles made of fervour
jumping within dusk beyond old empires as fleas
as citizens and minerals embalmed in allying night
all separate stars flowing into the road bringing hale
as bomb shackles untie the strain of a worker’s calm
set against the aplomb of burning tournament smiles
and the quiverless grace of leaders without bows
baiting dew horses to rise from the peasant’s heart
instead of that traffic which is his blood
where at exactly midnight he coughs a saint into the wind
and finds that only where we are animals in reality

Is there any match for the tasteless fires beyond corruption
where tawdry names for humanity inside sedation
cause more seizures than the bastions of life
where will and veneers of ice-proof howl take apart succour
lamenting in space what is said on the mercenary road
lighting searing bird strikes across orchard horizon
and burdens are met with the same pilgrimage song
that are made from the dance of allying in storm
that which roars from the suppleness of life
and hails blithely in the paradise of orchard woods
as lawless respect among animals of colour
share boon and life’s music among feeding
seeking not which is remembered among faux kinship
but building vessels made of lightening
expressing the earth’s exchange with moon
as both worlds are sung by the same salute.


is Raoul Moat in a boat. His first words were ‘Newky Brown’. As well as being our most prolific writer, René also creates graphic art, paintings and screenplays.

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