Striding over the high hills,
She wraps herself in the north wind,
A scarf of snow hugging her neck.

Is it the cold makes her face blue,
Or does her face chill the land?
When she rinses out her old plaid
Whirlpools whip up the foaming sea.
Trees crack in her icy breath,
And birds fall frozen from the branch.

Dark Lady of the dark days;
Who would believe her womb carries
The solstice light of the deep year?

This is for all those sweet, those silly girls
Who painted up their eyes and lips and cheeks,
And sallied forth into the sparkling night
(Short skirts, crop tops, spike heels, dishevelled hair)
Intent on mischief, laughter, dancing, fun.

There was a time when I was one of them;
But luckier than them, I came back home,
A bit the worse for wear, a little drunk,
A little sick, sometimes a little bruised;
But nothing that a good sleep couldn’t cure.

These girls came home (if they came home at all
And weren’t found stark and cold in the waste grounds
And alleys) changed beyond recall;
Never again to know that careless joy,
That freedom to be silly, to be young.

I may not curse him, by the threefold law;
But ask you, Mother, in your winter guise,
The hooded crone, the washer at the ford,
The blue-faced strider of the barren hills,
Exultant glutter of the raven’s maw,
Girdled with dead men’s entrails, hung with skulls,
To wreak your vengeance on that greedy wretch
Who took these innocent sweethearts for his prey;
Transform his blood to venom in his veins;
Make each breath choke his lungs with acrid smoke;
Turn his limbs leaden and his shrivelled heart
(So hard already) into molten iron.

Comfort the victims and avenge the dead;
And pour his poison over his own head.

Another place (Jan 9 2013)


Half-remembered, half-imagined,
the mind’s eye glimpses but can’t grasp
another place, another time.

now here;
here, now;
nowhere.

I was never a rose,
But green
Not a chrysanthemum,
Nor an orchid
Something cut,
Walked upon
And yet,
You were the dew
And kissed me,
With a thousand moist kisses
Everynight,
Making me sparkle
In the sunrise

Oh Weather Girl, so smart and slim,
Safe in your air-conditioning,
Coiffured and prinked, make-up in place;
No freckles on that flawless face,
Nor sweat upon your marble brow –
I wonder if you’ll ever know
How much your dulcet verbiage
Sends me insane with helpless rage.

You tell me, as the best of news:
‘It’s a good day for barbecues,
‘for the high pressure over Spain
‘will block out the Atlantic rain;
‘the outlook’s fine, with lots of sun,
‘and we’ll have highs of thirty-one’.
And then you flash your perfect teeth,
Complacency beyond belief!

You stupid woman, don’t you know
My flowers and veg need rain to grow?
And since there’s been a hosepipe ban
I have to use my watering-can.
It hasn’t rained for days and days:
Do you know how much water weighs?

Of course the fault’s not down to you,
You only read the autocue;
But could you, please, once in a while,
Just switch off that ****** smile!!

I remember you, resplendent
in white and gold, like a ****** bride,
but (as you said) with no such intent,
adventuring off – I was ill in bed
or I’d have been with you – to make mischief
in the jasmine-scented Cairo night.

And I remember you, rosy with wine,
in a long blue gown, with blazing hair outspread,
fast asleep in the back of a London taxi.
I had such ado to wake you,
while another friend stood by,
holding your golden child.

And when you finally surfaced,
you staggered, baby on arm, up the steps,
refusing help, to your front door;
we watched, our hearts in our mouths,
till you found the lock, and vanished inside.

So you have lived your life, ever chasing
after the next rainbow; a leonine spirit,
shimmering in air made lambent by your fire.

For years you were my icon, my aspiration,
but each of us must be true to her own nature;
it’s the kobbolds of earth give wings to the sea-goat’s foot.
‘The words of Saturn are harsh after the songs of Apollo’:
You, that way. I, this way.

[Refrain 1 Confidently]
Our mum is such a softie, no matter what we do
She always gives us what we want, and hugs and kisses too.
We get up late, don’t go to school, and hang about the street
We drop our litter on the floor and scuff it with our feet.  

But now …
Do you think we may have gone too far?
Perhaps we should say sorry?
Or is it too late for that?

[Refrain 2 Less confidently]
Our mum is such a softie, no matter what we do
She always gives us what we want, and hugs and kisses too.
We get up late, don’t go to school, and hang about the street
We drop our litter on the floor and scuff it with our feet.  

But now…
I don’t know about you, but I’m frightened.
I’ve never seen her like this.
Even when she was cross, she never shouted,
And never, ever hit me.

[Refrain 3 Hesitantly]
Our mum is such a softie, no matter what we do
She always gives us what we want, and hugs and kisses too.
We get up late, don’t go to school, and hang about the street
We drop our litter on the floor and scuff it with our feet.  

But now…
She has turned her dark face upon us.
Her steely eyes glitter, her upraised hand
Threatens the very worst you can imagine;
Storm, earthquake, thunderous wave, a hail of fire
Burning, consuming, killing, laying waste.

[Refrain 4 A desperate gabble]
Our mum is such a softie, no matter what we do
She always gives us what we want, and hugs and kisses too.
We get up late, don’t go to school, and hang about the street
We drop our litter on the floor and scuff it with our feet...

Is it too late?
Do we have a final chance?
She was so fair, so bright;
So kind, so all-providing, so benign…
But, now …