Youth

When you told me it was over
it had only just begun
the clock had ceased its ticking
and we still felt very young

Those everlasting children
in 1942
were taken from their villages
and nothing they could do

While concrete jungle architects
constructed city spaces
we thought we were invincible
in a middle Earth oasis

But history snatched our shoes away
and filled our hearts with fear
so soon our safety set upon
and dragged us out of there.

And now our broken spirits
seek an everlasting home
where innocence is not a crime
and we live (once more) as one.

Apron

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.

I Will Rock You.

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.

Running Out

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.

Lest

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.

Stirring Darkly

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.

Chemo Café

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.

Offering

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.