We may all be wasted seeds
blown along by the autumn breeze
scared and scattered
scarred and shattered
but if we work together hard enough
if we plough and sow and reap our love
there will be sunflowers this time next year
there will definitely be sunflowers, dear.
A lamb in a lion suit
and smaller than it seems
my youth is corruptible
but infinitely adaptable
To those who believe in
its perfection and worth
my youth will reveal
its true identity.
Standing on a box
in the heart of his city
hoping to be heard
My Dad was a ladder maker
constructing kit for cleaners of windows
slow and steady in his craft putting pride before profit
his ladders rested upon sills and guttering
of every discerning domestic dwelling in Derbyshire
Dad only used good unblemished wood
free from faults and knots
he did not sell steps filled with putty mix
berating those who operate quick and dirty fixes
which may betray the trust of unsuspecting customers
From my Dad I learned to discover deceit
searching cracked smiles and creaking protestations
gleaning hidden truths beneath glossed over surfaces
his lofty craft keeping my feet firmly on the ground.
OUR NEW COLLEAGUE CAROLINE HAS BEEN
HIRED TO SHRED THE WORLD.
Turns out it was an awful mistake after all
and rather than cause appalling embarrassment
greater powers than we have decided to see if
the whole unfortunate matter can be
solved quietly as let’s see – an administrative error
now we will endeavour with the least possible fuss
to put things right for all of us
no recrimination or blame but all the same
please keep this under your hats
we don’t want leaks or litigation
just a resolution to this bothersome situation.
END OF MEMO
Whisky skies split splashing us to work
purposely bursting sandbagged streets
drenching pigeons grounded in the downpour
spilling the bellies of belching grids
riotous rivulets racing buses like babbling boys
in the serious city the capillary action
of wet feet escapes us from suited restraint
and umbrellas abandoned arm in arm we puddle jump.
On this dozing cosy cricket listening afternoon
first fire comforts soft summer bones
hot steaming apple licks our fingers
and spicy pie conversation draws close
to contemplate hibernation.
If we cull our words
so death may be executed
with minimum disruption
we are as vulnerable
as our musky friends.
There is no freedom for
those who bury their heads.
The night fire blazes
casting shadows across the hills
acrid smoke scorching the throats of trees
They hold their ground
wrapping order in roots regrouping
on ancient acclivities and in wiser minds.
Meet with joy and loneliness
speak with panic sleep with rest
rise with the lift accept the fall
lay out these gifts and love them all.