My choice to speak and dare to do
I share with other people too,
my own convictions – foul or fair
are seeds propelled in gifted air.
But even if my thoughts seem fixed,
with time or conversation mixed
they may be tempered, tinkered, turned
by what I heard, saw, did or learned.
So in my darkest/finest hours
when often I express my flowers
it is of boldness I partake
and I must know the mark I make.
I need a massive elephant to hold my love for you,
let’s face it to be barking frank I need a full on zoo.
I’ll bring some pretty penguins and a dolphin and a duck,
to quack about the way I feel, I can’t believe my –
look
to do you justice honey bee, I’ll ask a roaring lion,
and forty furry monkeys and a snake I can rely on.
There’s room for rhinos, heffalumps and owls in a bush,
and huge orang-utans and spiky whatsits we can’t –
touch
I’ll introduce a growling thing with teeth and not much hair,
but keep it well away from meerkats, other cats and bear.
The dolphins all will do a flip, the seals will throw their fish,
when love’s humungous tiger grabs your collar for a –
kiss.
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.
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.
So mounting life we’ll screech and ride and burn
careering round the country without lights
we’ll roll our bikes get up and spit and learn
and dash on through the dark dragging our rights.
When we are younger helmets guard our thought
as down those lethal hills we shift and fly
our heads are strong our muscles flexed and tort
as hairpins bend and buzz us round and by.
Chicanes defied we leap our faith and nerve
and pay no heed to riders left or felled
unhindered by the boulders and the curb
past flags and friends as though we are propelled.
When whipped and lapped by attitude we swear
at step and crossroads, brake and all but chunder;
footfaulting in our sudden wheel of care
we grip the bars to stop us going under.
Oh Henry dear, what have you done?
I always thought that we had fun,
unwinding, zapping dusty ground
under beds and round and round,
you’ve never let me down before,
I’ve always had a dust free floor,
but now you’ve silted up inside
and when I looked I could have cried,
you used to be the cleanest here
but now you’ve lost that crown I fear,
you’ve really made a frightful mess
I hope we don’t have fussy guests,
for underneath your shiny smile
your belly bag burst and left a pile!
When this apple tree is axed and carted to the yard
its old leaves stripped, its twisted branches cut and carved;
when birds and errant squirrels are summarily dismissed,
and mistletoe is torn and puckered lips unkissed;
somewhere beyond the function of its analytic brain
beneath the anxious beating of its heart, the alignment of its grain
we will get down to the nub, that grande dam the tree would be,
except artful years bore sweetest fruit contorting destiny.
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.
Cards, did you ever stand? Or was my brilliant house of hearts,
young fumbling fingers darting in to rebuild broken parts,
a childish and imagined thing dreamed up by chilly rooms?
Do you recall the way we played on Sunday afternoons?
.
In our separate world were marbles, and a box of dominoes,
each indent to be thumbed, the numbers nought to six in rows,
each globe a tiny planet trapped, in subtle colour rolled,
all added up when I was very young and they were old.
.
And when they called me in at last, I boxed and bagged my friends,
to leave disgruntled kings and queens and keepsies in the end.
One hand still cupped around a shell in which I hear the sea,
I peer through dust of lemon cake washed down with grown-up tea.
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.
aplaceforpoetry 