Ballerinas perched on stilts

Ballerinas perched on stilts

Although I've craved the balm of pen on paper flowing
clear page filling line by line, and in the end
some kind of rounding, resolution
yes, that's what I meant, or near as words can come
encompassing the thing
still I've shunned the life poetic, kept the pen on purpose capped
for I'm fearful and I'm flinching
for I know where it will lead

I can write of days of Autumn
rust red supermoon eclipse
blue grapes snipped and piled in buckets
salt flats shining, salt like snow
those elegant flamingo, balancing on stilts
and stepping through the water with a ballerina's grace

But I'll slam the gate on monsters
Here be dragons!
Look away!
Turn my face from what is lurking
run like hell before they roar

Let my mind be full of Autumn
snow flats shining, salt like snow
and the palest pink flamingos
ballet dancers  perched on stilts

October 2nd 2015, Hounoux, for Lyn, my fellow-dragon slayer.

So though I carry poetry

So though I carry poetry

I've mostly been a fan of words, a dialect devotee
smiled at nuances in accent, syntax subtlety 
an apostrophe well-placed
I've put my faith in language, believed in le mot juste
conjured like a waiter with a click, and apt
to cheer or comfort, soothe or clarify,
but lately I'm not so sure
for more and more they fail me, don't answer at my call
and even marshalled artfully, their power appears to wane.

So though I carry poetry and crossword-solving's my delight
I see that there are times, non-stop rolling catastrophic, on the news
or quiet whispered down the line
when grief's abyss is opened up
to Lear's appalling howl,
never never never never never
no words
just nothing to be said. 

July 30th 2015, Brighton and Hounoux 
   

May 8th 2015

May 8th 2015

This time, like news of grief
about to hit, tsunami on its way
and all of us but bobbing flotsam
going under
the tolling bell, doom in the knell
dread in the exit polls.

So, sick at heart and sicker
we wordless took to bed
enough said
opting for oblivion
news blackout, curtains drawn
and lovely the nightingale sang. 

June 14th 2015, Hounoux.

Rounded like an egg

Rounded like an egg

Bold unbowed
her curve and camber lovely
as an S
arc and bow and bend
swells and folds, rolled
rounded like an egg
and all the world within

5th May 2015, Hounoux

Anzac Day 2015

Anzac Day 2015

Charlie Chaplin, mother sang

didn't rush to war

not for him the Dardanelles

stayed instead to entertain

black and white on silent screen

brightly shone the moon

How much of love and light and joy

is buried with our darling boy

carved in stone, Gallipoli

forty thousand men and more

didn't live to make their mark

slaughtered all too soon

Countless stories never lived

all that might have been

gallant Anzacs donned their hats

fell in step and waved goodbye

Matilda waltzing with the band

jolly swagman tune

Tommy Atkins with his pals

whistling, marched away

Picadilly, Leicester Square

grieving Dolly left behind

siren songs, adventure's lure

heedless to their doom

One hundred years, what lessons learned?

Still the marching bands

red and gold the regiments

clean white graves and monuments

poppies, anthems, poetry

plaintive wailing bugle call

we may shroud it all in beauty

talk of sacrifice and duty

but the truth remains obscene

dulce et decorum, dying

such a bloody, ugly, lie

27th April, 2015, for Sue, whose grandfather, Lieutenant John Lionel Calvert Booth, was mortally wounded on April 25th 1915 at Gallipoli. He died of wounds on H M Hospital Ship Itonus on April 28th 1915 aged 38, and was buried at sea.

I think of Susan

I think of Susan

I think of Susan in the bathroom 
where her Galliano shoes swagger
and swank, still life
or by the conte crayon curvy nude
on the bedroom wall,
the oriental shirt and mannequin, juxtaposed
first-ever flowers, tulips, seriously askew
and tentative
but bolder daffodils

For Susan taught us week by week
called us artists, said Be brave
and try the right side, where the soul
creative, can breathe and stretch
and grow

and so I think of Susan
light and lovely
her precious legacy


April 16th 2015, Hounoux, for Susan and for Gill, with love and thanks

As rainbows shimmer

As rainbows shimmer

Even the sodden farms
their fields winter dun or darker,
sparkle, shine under luminous sky
muddy tracks now waterlogged
are silver strips
there's lime and light, spring promise
green patchworked with the browns
and all the spectrum red to violet
in garlands strung
as rainbows shimmer, shameful
on spiders' ancient webs

28th February 2015, Hounoux