TECHNO 

your name has information mountains

          they don’t know the first thing about you,

                          or the second, or the last.

A hundred ways to contact

             But why can’t you communicate

                                     - by text, email, Face-book or tweet?

Technos rap at you in unborn tongues:

             you are wrapped and packaged for the sale.

UNLESS, and there’s always nothing new,

A mystery, a miracle:

            You conquer raging science, giving it a human face.

AWAKE

The air was pure, all sizzling frozen crystals,

        and the brittle frost, un-snowlike, shallow,

gave sharp incisive outlines to all objects

        where, before, they had been muted,   

                                             cosy, almost fluid

                        in the park.

 The trees were sharp, electric, jagged

        and spiked into the blue-cold sky,

 cutting a serrated definition of themselves.

        Behind, normally complacent houses

                                                   had to fight,

 but did successfully, to be noticed

                        in the skyline.

 The dead of winter came alive:

         alive, though warmth is life (they say);

 it’s also sleep, where cold is wide awake.

         Whilst warm the eyelids droop and close,

 in the cold air the shutters open and you see.

The penetrating atmosphere first pierced,

                                                     then cleared  his drowsing mind and galvanised his      

                                                incubating body. The weak but dazzling sun threatened thaw;

so he resolved to keep this iced awareness

                                            for a while at least.

Well, long enough to see,

                           to understand,

                                             to change.

But I know spring will come,

with all those mild distractions and red-herrings.

No change by will,

                  but just slow accidents of growth.