Memory

Memory fades
Connections close and falter
As time overtakes the body's repair

Memory fades
Lines learned long ago are lost now
Faces and familiar actions tumble into forgetfulness

Memory fades
Specifics become abstracts
Questions have no answers and dreams blur into reality

Memory fades
The past clouds and fragments
Never to be reclaimed; but the future shines bright

The Melon

The melon burst
And the air was filled
With the pulp and seeds
And juice it spilled

The Angel

Voice of a martyr
Tongue of God
Bleached skin
And velvet rod
Beaten limb
And broken bone
Hurt by word
And stick and stone
Stood for cause
And strong belief
Fell from grace
To hell beneath.

Gen at the Jerwood

Simple things, a twisted scarf
A ball of wool that makes her laugh
Wicker chests for storing treasures
Full of fundamental pleasures
Balls to bounce and books to read
Everything a child would need
Lost in joy without a care
Oblivious to the paintings there.

Hastings

Grey clouds over tall black huts
Wisps caught in fishing nets
While gulls fight the wind.

Drops fall thicker, heavier,
Roiling up from the sea and down from the sky
Those black huts grow blacker.

A man cuts skate.
Hacking white slabs from the sea
As the waves rise to reclaim them.

The clothes pile

Jumpers, t-shirts, underwear
Lord knows what is under there
Socks and trousers, pantyhose
The pile of clothes just grows and grows!

Now it's up to my waistline
Soon it'll be over my head
I fear if I pull out that vest that I need
I'll drown in a river of thread.

Flies

There's something about flies.
They drive me mad.
Swinging fists and rolls of paper
jumping, swatting, missing, cursing.
Why is it that they vex me so?
I think that it is just because
They buzz and buzz and buzz and buzz.

Buns

The bakery is full of buns
The mirror says enough's enough
I think there's room for just one more
A doughnut or a sweet cream puff.

I can't decide so take them both
You only live but once, they say
Hand-in-hand I carry the buns
Home, and hide the scales away.

Furniture

Behold the chair, a humble thing
Four legs, some hair and a length of string.
Hang on, that's not quite right, I think
A chair has arms and a butler's sink
Or is that a divan? Oh I don't know,
Furniture always confuses me so.

Jumpers and bumpers

The man paused
And took a step away from the bridge.
Every breath held was released as one
Trembling hands taken
Frantic phone calls made
Relief, joy, anger, questioning.

All of this I imagine
As I sit miles away
In a pregnant train, paused.
Finally, at a signal, we are underway
The problem down the line has been cleared.

The Mean Hairdresser

Where did you get that hair?
That buck-toothed, bowl-cut fringe.
Who wielded that machete
That left you so bewigged?

...

Hope

Cabin fever; a common theme
Of nights extant and loaded dreams
Of flowers red and blooming gold
Of music played and stories told.
We took our chance dressed in white
Like Icarus we made our flight
And suffered the same fate to fall
Flat on the floor, the ceiling, the wall.
No more cups to shelter within
No more shields behind our grins
We broke from that, severed ties
Packed our things and made to fly.
What fools we were to hold those dreams
Things fell apart at every seam
The chains were on, the knives were sharp,
But hope stayed buried in our hearts.

Matches

The tree stood in a wood
Its bark hard and dark
The tallest living thing on the earth
Brought low by the smallest spark.

To Bed

I wish you'd come to bed
Don't worry about things said and unsaid
Please, just come to bed
Let the switched on screens switch off instead
And come to bed
As the filaments fade from white to orange to red
Leave your phone, close your eyes and let yourself be led
I want to feel your head on the pillow next to my head
I wish you'd come to bed.

Sounds into Silence

Harmony and dissonance
The two sides of sound
When a disrhythmic note erupts
From tonic perfection
The minor fall
Tumbling like a weary cascade
Unhappy in this key
The first sign that rhythms are running at cross-purposes
Every 48th beat a crotchet slow
A steady accumulation of disaster.
And then it's too late.

There was a boy

There was a boy so strong
That with a finger he could lift a car
And with a flick of his wrist
Send it hurtling toward the stars.

There was a girl so smart
That she could beat the 50 greatest chess brains
All at the same time
Playing 50 different games.

One day they came together
Took a vow that they would change the world
Set a force in motion
And make their voices heard.

They started with world hunger.
The girl came up with a brilliant plan
The boy put it into action
Irrigating and building dams.

...

Fire in the Playhouse

Curtain call and every player
Stands and bows as flowers fall
The slow applause and white noise
Blends to silence that deafens all.

The curling smoke behind the scenes
Winding from the setting spark
As dancers lithe and joyful
Sing and spin and cheer the dark.

Then colour fills the air, the sky
The noise of sudden fury bursts
And metal softens, sags and drips
At players unrehearsed.

After the storm

Each shimmering leaf a tale of storms
Of isobars and shifting skies
Every bird that twists and flits
With legs outstretched to grip
A branch and come to land.
Raindrops come and raindrops go
Sliding down the tapering leaves
Falling to the broken ground
Where rabbits dance in bright moonbeams

Masks

Sorry - missed yesterday, so two posts today...

Beware of those who choose to wear
A gilded mask beneath their hair
A golden veil, a curate's egg
The painted features on the edge
of faces, noses, eyes and ears
A hiding place from private fears.
But who can say? Who can really understand
The reasons why they still demand
To see themselves in mirrored walls
To shed a tear upon their pall
To twist and scream and claw their eyes
To tear the mask that they despise,
To stand again with naked skin
And show the world what lies within.

Taking control of failure

Sometimes we have to admit defeat
Not just defeat, but failure
Sometimes it's not something we recognise until it's too late;
But recognise it nonetheless.
Take control. Take responsibility.
If mistakes made are not mistakes made again
Then experience is more important than failure.
Stand tall. Be responsible,
Learn, and move on.
Enter the next challenge with new hope,
New belief.
New vision for moving forward.
These decisions are never the end
Merely alternate paths
Junctions in life
Possibilities to be taken.
Take them.

Needlework

Warp and weft, wax and wane
Slip the stitch and pull again
Draw the threads to paint the cloth
Row by row casting off.

---

The seamstress sits absorbed in work
Never distracted, never shirks
Eyes focused at needle's end
Rise and fall, walk and wend.

The moon

The moon was huge tonight
Full, red and low
Bright enough to walk outside
Lit only by its glow.

Pasta and Problems

The pasta sits heavily as I sit in bed
Late evening on a Sunday.
I can't find a good time to talk
But it'll happen one day.

You seem quiet tonight
As if you expect the worst
That there's an argument brewing
And it wouldn't be the first.

Not from me tonight, though,
I have no strength to fight.
I have no strong convictions
And besides, you're always right.

The Alien and the Chicken Suit

Tim was a man in a chicken suit
A man of forty-three
Two children and a quiet divorce
No car, but a big TV

"Buy Big Chicken Burgers"
Said the sign above Tim's head
And on the other side was written
"The food that keeps you fed."

It could have said anything
As far as Tim could care
People never read the signs
All they did was stare

At the middle-aged, over weight
Man inside the bird
With wire-rimmed glasses
And a face that never heard

The jeering and the calling
Of youths and passers-by
Tim just kept on walking
With his gaze fixed on the sky

One day while out walking
On his usual Thursday beat
Something caught Tim's eye
And he tripped over his feet

Something moving rapidly
Across the darkening sky
That seemed to be getting closer
If Tim could believe his eyes

He looked around the pavement
But no-one else had seen
Their eyes were locked on the floor below
And they trudged as in a dream

Tim looked at the shape again
It was definitely closing in
The shape was kind of circular
Like a Crawfords biscuit tin

He shouted to anyone around
But everyone seemed to have gone
All across the empty square
Tim was the only one

Tim stood helpless in the centre
His eyes fixed on the craft
As it hovered huge above his head
And a hatch opened at the aft

Tim looked up into the hatch
And saw a weapon there
When suddenly it fired a beam
That pulled him through the air

Up and up he rose at speed
Into the alien ship
Try as he might to free himself
He was caught in its iron grip

He was drawn into the centre
Of the interstellar hulk
Whose docking bay dwarved
Even Tim's considerable bulk

And standing there before him
With large purple eyes
Was a thin grey humanoid
Of smaller-than-average size

"So this is it, first contact.
"I'd better make it good.
"Hello, I'm Tim." He stammered
Wondering if it understood

The creature opened its mouth to speak
And Tim felt his pulse quicken.
"I got bored of cow," it said, licking its lips,
"And wanted to try chicken."

Calling out

Calling out in the night
Calling out with embers aglow
We feel the heat
Feel sparks fly in our souls
I reach for you, my love, my life
Reach with thrilling fingers charged
And lock skin to skin like a newborn
Locked with love writ large

The headache

Mary flinched and held her head
As rhythmic waves of nauseous pain
Reverberated through her skull
Focused in her frontal brain.

Sitting in her high-backed chair
She rocked a little to and fro
Prepared for the second burning phase
As blood will come and blood will go.

Digging

The first sun warms the soil,
And the first clods are broken.
Unwanted shoots carefully shaken
And roots removed from the black-brown sod.
The ground is picked over,
Fork biting deep and lifting,
Throwing and shaking,
Bringing order and uniformity.
A pinch, rub and surreptitious sniff
It's not done to be too involved with the earth.
Then rows are marked,
Squat potatoes placed in lines,
Chitted eyes raised to the sky,
And carefully dug in.
Gaps left for raising burial mounds,
Depriving those tubers of light.
Then comes the long wait.
Then comes the plate.
Then they are ate.

Carmelita danced

Carmelita, sing the rain
That falls in loud staccato notes
Sing of home, the pain
That calls you to your roots.

Carmelita, dance that beat
With sinewed arms carve out a path
Dance through time with henna-ed feet
Keeping your rhythm of time and a half.

The Game

"It's your move," he said, "take control.
"Memorise the pattern and move your piece."
I did as he said and moved my queen
And immediately the game ceased.

"Good move!" he said when the dust was clear,
"You beat me much too easily now."
I tallied the score and swept the board
And quickly wiped the sweat from my brow.

The chair

I sit in my comfortable chair
Burred leather and broken springs
Older than my children, and dear
Day by day I sit in that well-worn groove
Nothing fancy, but it fits

But my friend has one of those posture seat contraptions
More kneeler than chair
Made of hard wood and uncomfortable angles.
He swears by it. Best thing he's ever sat on.
Why don't I try it?

But I've had my chair for years.
Every contour familiar.
But something about the new chair brings me back.
It looks challenging to sit on, but rewarding.
Maybe I need a challenge? Maybe I need a change?
I reach out an arm to touch it.
At first I don't know how to sit and every day is uncomfortable,
But before too long, it's a part of me.