Boxing Day Exchange

We are in the queue,

me and you, we know it too:

our front line fallen.

Best not push too hard

or we’ll be displaced

and lives could tumble.

.

If we two could pick

any darn box we desired,

ours would be blood red,

filled with comrades lost

when choices were made

by God, them or us.

.

But we can only

push on with compromised hope,

chipped swords and hearts drawn

in desperation.

Come, let us exchange

pretty distractions.

Christmas at Our House

How can we have Christmas at our house?

The rooms look like there was a riot

the table’s strewn over with gas bills

and the reindeer are all on a diet.

.

How can we have Christmas at our house?

The tree is hung over and wonky

our turkey ran off with the tinsel

and we never did order the donkey.

.

How can we have Christmas at our house?

It’s too cold to put out the fire

so Santa will struggle to reach us

and so will the heavenly choir.

.

How can we have Christmas at our house?

but wait, well then maybe we can

there’s a bucket of love up our chimney

and hugs in the fridge and the pan.

.

There’s sweet figgy pudding and music

our voices are merry and bright

we’ll hide nuts in a massive red stocking

and drink ginger wine late at night.

.

So let’s all have Christmas at our house

we’ll cook up a magical banquet

and after the games and the laughter

we’ll cuddle up under our blanket.

.

We all know the New Year is waiting

and we have to work hard and dig deep

but beautiful friendships will give us

the gift of this Christmas to keep.

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.

Reach

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.

 

Wishing Well

Will you pick me for your team?
Will you, will you, will you?

Will you listen to to my dreams?
Will you, will you, will you?

Will you call if I fall ill?
Will you, will you, will you?

Will you help me to be still?
Will you, will you, will you?

Will you love my crooked smile?
Will you, will you, will you?

Will you want to stay a while?
Will you, will you, will you?

Will you stop the closing door?
Will you, will you, will you?

Will you come again for more?
Please?

For those who wait

When it is time
quiet and easy I’ll draw near
perhaps to our secret place
in playful echoes of the old bridge?
or shall we spill into silver waves?
perform shadow dances for a pink goodnight?

If the beastly fire will not be lit for now
if lights are dim and cruel time rattles
draw up a comfy chair, find a kinder place
I’ll not forget, so rest and don’t you fret
it simply isn’t time

not yet, not just yet.

Empathy

You understand when I fill my bath with acorns
and happily crunch through wash time

You comfort me when I talk to the mirror
and cry because no-one is there

You nod in agreement when I put my coat on backwards
so I don’t have to leave for the office

You accept there is a bit of my hair I never brush
because I fell out with it years ago

You are my chosen few
and I will try to understand you too.

Playtime

Ding dong the bell for crying out
loud but don’t hear reprimands half cocked
corridors run white socks falling to catch
imaginations lit like tapers ready to

come hail or shine grass cuttings or
snow girls flew out to archeologically
dig this unspoken urgency bending our
bodies into new shapes but never

did we build igloos are for boys for us no
kiss and tell you what no silly games fizzy
sweets like answers lay beneath twenty
serious minutes of comradeship and green

knees.