Balanced

July 4, 2019 at 9:27 am (Poems) (, , , )

I

try to take a balanced view of life

for the sake of my health and equanimity.

A documentary film about

Phillipe Petit, who high wired

between New York Twin Towers

on 7th August 1974

taught me that sickening fear,

rather than external physical danger,

is the greater killer.

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Apron

September 5, 2018 at 11:45 am (Poems) (, , , , , , , )

Your aproned neighbour is never far from the wall, her jam jar a convenient ear piece. But her ready mouth remains shut against ancient screams as your door makes its ungainly departure from bent hinges.

Your world of perfect safety, easyspeak politics and righteous well-being crash around you as they come, they come. With guns and knives they arrive,
as they always will.

And in that brief moment you wish,
not for your own salvation,
But for the peace of mind, in adversity,
Of having acted in accordance
with morality. Not in compliance,
but more difficult -.dissent.

With truncheons they break your tranquility,
and still protesting unerring loyalty
you are herded, herded into a metal
truck. Here she is, your neighbour, too, apron torn and dirty, still clutching her jam jar,
white fear bubbling at her lips.

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I Will Rock You.

April 12, 2018 at 5:38 pm (Poems) (, , )

You read me a story about a strange clockwork bird, and I flew away to dance with aurora borealis.

We are sheltering in our dreams, spending time with animals and gentle folk who move gracefully.

The dream is punctuated by broken glass and the threat of knives, but I really can’t go there right now.

She is frightened by his humour and clearly more at home when the date is reviewed on national tv.

Even now, you are searching for meaning, and I can remember how dark it was outside that train.

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Running Out

March 15, 2018 at 7:50 am (Poems) (, , , )

Gas is running out. Coal is

running out. Patience is exhausted.

Sage is just an antiquated word,

and thyme moves on inexoriably.

When beauty becomes the name of a blurred remembering

Beyond the helping hand of hearing aids and spectacles

I will run out into the street like a lost toddler

Screaming to be reconnected.

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Lest

February 28, 2015 at 5:51 pm (Poems) (, , , , , )

There is no gap between the dark and light
No break of day, no falling of the night
Our hearts may ache but fingers still entwine
Your share of misplaced blame lies next to mine
There is no way to say a last goodbye
Though worlds apart, I feel it when you cry
Should mindless spin rotate the human race
Away from common problems we all face
We’ll split the cost no matter where we stand
Our imprint is co-authored on this land
Remember how I whisper in your ear
That love will always hold the hand of fear.

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Stirring Darkly

February 19, 2013 at 11:09 am (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , , , )

Though on the surface splashes only briny wave;

there is one regret,

stirring darkly in the deepest corner of a cave.

.

Though I pull my eyes from the oily fear I find;

there is yet something,

scratching saline places hidden well and left behind.

.

If I might switch and dive my life to swim again;

on that returning tide,

I would void my lungs to wipe away one dreadful stain.

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Chemo Café

January 11, 2013 at 11:10 am (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, sociology, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

We all have our favourite seat

the men and women that I meet

whilst mermaids smile and serve us tea

and feed us intravenously.

.

In this cheery place of mine

bare arms are soaked into a shine

then wares are touted on a tray

the best we take the less to pay.

.

In this lively, loving place

anxiety etched on every face

my comfort is a cushioned chair

a pillow and designer hair.

.

In this café where I go

Life’s mélange is all on show:

black coffee corners of our minds

tenacity and mermaids kind.

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Offering

November 29, 2012 at 10:06 am (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, politics, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

In the old place, as you snatched your gaze away from me

I saw our futures in the furniture behind your head,

carved from antithesis, set in stone;

you rolled your eyes across an over- stretched conversation

and years flexed and flew.

.

While I pirouetted into semi dark,

you stuck your colours to the nearest domestic lamp

and remained  stoically moth-like. I hardly dare knock

at our last closed door, fearing the beat of distressed wings,

but I come with fresh baked anodyne,

and if you answer, it will make this new morning blossom.

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Building Affinity

November 19, 2012 at 12:00 am (literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, politics, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

War is a wasted land,

a wounded state where none may truly live,

so may not be defended;

whose deep ravines, made from dry, parted lips,

wide, fearful eyes, and broken homesteads,

are empty of prophet, in death, devoid of meaning;

where the very skin of earth is cut,

and love lies bombed and bleeding.

But

Courage can be a capital city

a freehold space where opponents come to sit

and hope be ever mended;

whose public belvederes and bowers, made strong

by transparent rumination and debate

all teem with life, in truth, where words have meaning;

where the very heart of earth is put,

and peace upheld with feeling.

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Reach

November 16, 2012 at 11:33 am (literature, Poems, poetry, politics, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The quick flick change dealt by the day

is hard to reconcile

when trauma preys on happiness

and grief tugs on its tail

and like a rusty spring, resolve

grows brittle over time

so every heaviness weighs more

than once, when we were primed.

 

But do not turn away from me

to spare me from your care

I also suffer silently

don’t be afraid to share.

Perhaps, if we tessellate our years

collaborate our smiles

we’ll find new ways to gird ourselves

to bear life’s rocky miles.

 

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