Here you both are, at the beginning,
Him, so massive, you so small,
I don't know why I thought you were alike,
but you're at home upon his lap,
His arm so strong and gently
curved around your sturdy little body,
both relaxed.
By the end of the album,
You're bigger, but he's got to stoop
to pat the ball you throw,
Careful to make sure it reaches,
Best mates, you in your too big boots,
He in his soft souled trainers,
Teaching each other
how to be.
Tired of all the silly bunting
and garish flapping flags a-waving
unfriendily in these wicked winds
where unnecessary wars are
waged for all their jingoistic
provocating
I set my stall beneath a string
of fluttering leaves,
A table spread with mother's
bright white table cloth,
reserved for special days
like this
I'll kiss the air to all
who pass and smile to those
who read my words
and do not overlay my thoughts
with unconscionable hate
I'll wait
Until the rain begins
then quietly go and pack my things
and bid retreat until
the flags that fly are clear
and over-writ with prayers
of peace.
I hear the wind
The crashing waves
Pushing pushing gathering
Roaring
When I was
Underneath the deepest
Rippling blues and light
Filtering greens and clear
Clear sunshine streaming
Bright
Resting resting
Night soft calming
On the calm deep
Sleep came
Claiming
Calming
Morning
Wetness
Whiteness
Shifting
Rising
From the deep
to the shore
Washing up
Rolling
Air washed
Sand rubbed
Rolling
Pushed
Pushed further
Up among the sands
And seaweeds
Slithering
Sand rocks
Sea glass
Hands stoops
Here am I
In darkness
Stolen
Taken
Jiggling
Waiting
Wanting
Vaunted
Ohhh, you haven't touched your Video or the cassette mama !
the visitor kneels beside the elderly lady.
She's looking at the trees' tops beginning to turn faintly yellow, orange, brown, in the distance.
Hmmmm ? She wakes from her reverie as the tape whirs into action. The colours, the sounds begin to stir her mind, faces flicker before her, but it's the sound of their voices that get through
that, and the warmth of the hand on hers, so gentle, so kind. Deep, visceral memories of love and laughter bring a smile to her mouth, a fleeting recognition to her eyes.
We are memory.
We are only memory.
Small, I'd put my hand up to my head,
Look at the houses down the road,
See from where I stood,
That they were no more tall than me.
Running to the gate,
I'd swing, its spring was not the thing
that kept me in,
And time would bring
A marching band
Along our street, orange they were,
And in my orange shorts, I
Snook out to join them
In the throng,
I marched along, surely this was where I belonged,
Until the crossroads stopped me short.
Going over felt so wrong
Turning sadly I saw my mother
Running, crying, tripping after
Choking out my name,
Her fear for me escaping
You might get lost,
You might get grabbed,
You might get hurt,
You stay with us.
Suddenly I realised that I was bound,
Within the love of family,
I didn't want to hurt my mummy,
Didn't want to leave the sanctuary,
Snared inside this net of safety,
Surrounded by the bounds
Of familiarity, I was
Locked within the garden
Of my memory.
Once upon a time
That devil rhyme
Took some thoughts
And made them mine.
I used to worry about identity,
Saw its links to authenticity,
I am white and I'm a woman,
Those things about me
Thought they had dominion
over the way I'll always see,
Curbed my dreams of ever being free,
Stopped me thinking about
other ways to be.
I listen to the thrumming of the wind
These trees tell stories of a time,
not so different for some,
The climb is still as steep,
Though the hum less rhythmic.
Electricity lays its lines out flat
for us to keep.
This shouldn't hurt they say,
the scope going in,
Something remembered,
Like some small sin
Putting a thing
in the wrong bin
Realisation blooms
on the rotting pile within.
It shouldn't,
But it does,
Couldn't .....
All done ! they reply.
Yet the thorned thing
Grows
And we cry.
The water breaks;
A bird's wing,
Shafts and quills intact
along the shards of ice.
Too heavy to lift, I tip
the basin up
and water drains from underneath
the broken thing.
I want to keep it intact,
Safe from warm,
Hold it in Winter aspic,
One small, fragile memory
of peace.
Hidden,
Eyes protected,
Razor sharp brim
foreclosing our reach.
I
Only an air kiss
for your First Lady.
The wind tries to take it.
Another moment in which
regret might rise up too,
Or maybe bubbles of laughter,
throwing caution to that wind,
That hat, becoming
a frisbee
And you shaking your long hair free.
*
God bless those who've been granted power.
May they use it for the greatest good.
II
Today, a new day,
Sans hat,
but your suit's making a suggestion:
Take Frank's fedora and
Make your own way,
Tip your world
into a caramel confection,
Cock a snook in their direction
and
Take us to the pictures
in Your lexicon of clothes.
Let us live twice,
Do it all again,
But different.
Put on some style
Not your way
My way.
Looking in the mirror,
Your shoes say
Where's that hat ?
*
of war yesterday we went to war to rid the world of want filling coffers with oil vast vats with grains dark powders spice life water and...