This is an edited version of an earlier poem (that I needed to get down to forty lines) to enter for an anthology of David Bowie-inspired writing and art. The poem is about to be published in the anthology.

Meeting David Bowie on the Road to Emmaus

Only the other day I chastised myself
For not having marked David’s passing With some lasting homage of my own. How could I not pay tribute to this entity That matched the strides of my waking life; Touching it in places, yet ever changing? How to honour… to worship perhaps?
And then he comes to me in a dream; Crashing out from my Sylvian fissure Like a crack in the sky and his hand Reaching down to me, pointing… Pointing to the creation of an idea
That might just be of some weight.
Jung informs and parades the worth
Of a magical travelling companion
Who guides us through the labyrinth; Illuminating our dreamscapes and Diffusing the shadows in our minds. Light around dark. The lumen naturae… Conceals itself beneath a bushel yet Recognises the darkness as its own.
Not a light to look at but one to see by Like a black star… just like a black star
David appeared to me despite his death Returned like some conjured up soul Did he come to me in a dream because
I felt the need to draw on his muse or To believe he’s alive and with me always?
A common fancy among the religious
But a dubious epiphany for an atheist… One that tells me more about myself – The one true god in most people’s life
(If they are being honest with themselves). It’s me that requires guidance so I ordain it
And he comes unto me. Alive in essence. Showing me his stigmata to prove it.

His appearance enough to still influence
My thoughts, my psyche, my spiritual choice.
As the clerk in charge of data processing, And ergo master of my own subconscious,
Should I take the credit for the realisation Of this last incarnation of his genius? Not all the dead are good at enduring And it doesn’t take a god to tell you
That immortality comes through creation; Whether a world or just the one poem You must let your light emanate
And send it soaring out into space
In the hope one day they’ll say to you You’ve really made the grade.

Gray Lightfoot