The Spirit of Accord

Conjoined by circumstance, we were as twins,

collective fate upon respective dials;

you docked your pirate ship inside my lines

and blocked me with uncompromising sails.

.

To square the round we drew our swords to fight,

inflicting wrath on anchored minds with spears;

decisions ground with sharp wit edged with spite,

in altercation boxed the other’s ears.

.

In case you tried to sail I slung my stones,

and what I strove to build you ran to spoil;

you flared your nostrils, stamped upon my bones,

I danced on pins to pitch my burning oil.

.

You curdled coffee with your sour grapes,

my rancid comments rattled down our time;

but now you’re gone I miss our fierce debates,

it seems as though your voice was also mine.

Ready?

Time to fix, recycle, sort

make a splendid space for thought

.

Accoutrements will have to go

add-ons may disrupt the flow

.

Stuffed up anger all turfed out?

Bag it; bin the old self-doubt

.

Untangle guilty clasps and chains

dust yourself and breathe again.

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?

Big Foot

It paid no respect, would

not do as we said, just

kept jumping around, as if

beans worked its head. It

was only a toy, but

it thought it was real, and

was acting as though it

could think, grow and feel. We

didn’t quite know what

its next move would be if

we told it to go, so

we asked it for tea. Now it

sits down for meals, though

we know it can’t eat, but

I guess we’re quite fond of

the thing with big feet.

Cake

Let’s do it while the early light is pale and cold,

when our soft and slippered feet still ache with sleep,

before the awesome day grows in its wisdom, old,

and we no longer can each other’s company keep,

I’ll go down stairs and turn the oven hot and high,

mix sweet with cocoa, rich with buttered love,

you follow, rubbing sleep from night time eyes,

drawn by morning’s promise from the room above,

we’ll sit together with our cups of steaming tea,

til when we feel the waiting world can’t do us harm,

with half a chocolate cake for you, and half for me,

a slice of happiness to keep us safe and warm.

Cake and eat it!

This weekend in the perfect weather
we went to a boot sale all together
the stalls were selling standard fare
from books to jam to things to wear

We bought some clothes for a few pounds
and spent some time just wandering round
then when it got to half past three
we were tempted inside by thoughts of tea

St Anne’s in Arscott is a church
so pews are the only place to perch
As we were sitting with our cups
our twelve year old came wandering up

He looked concerned and ate a scone (pronounced sconn)
and then he ate another one
the question that he asked us next
revealed just why he seemed perplexed

Dear parents (he can be quite formal)
I’ve discovered something quite abnormal
Tell me why do grandmas make great cakes
when no-one under sixty bakes?

We scratched our heads and drank our tea
it seemed we had no answers see.
Will our dislike of messy flour
or too much supermarket power
or evolution or education
leave us soon a cakeless nation?

(answers on a prayer book)