Frost that stretched your skin
made you gasp
And blew clouds through your hands

Fire that flushed your cheeks
made you sleep
Yet danced wild in the glass

Jazz that gathered words
Made you calm
And breath ever so gently outwards

Tumbleweed
Ted Old
John Merchant,
Joan Harling
Edith Smith
David Wilkinson,
Mike Waldron
Marie Ainsworth
Ruth Bell,
Lucy Ritchie

A list undignified by death
In an instant deflated, unwound
Vibrant yet now not a breath
Missing, lost, not found

I mourn every one of their names
And all that each one implied
Merely a lifetime ago
They came, they lived, they died.

The bluntness has ruined my mood
With the arrogant stealing of life
It demanded all my attention
Then cynically wielded the knife

I'm trying but their voices are fading
As my brain's recordings wear out
And the clarity of all their faces
Is blurred with the pallor of doubt

So all I have now are some photos
Flat caricatures of their lives
Each one replacing my memory
With a past that cannot be revived

Relentless my list will grow longer
Crushing for each name a line
And my heart will grow ever more heavy
Till the last name that's added,
is mine.

The man in the black trench coat
holds a sign
'The end of the world is near'
It isn't.
Its closer than that.
It sits on our shoulders
Mocking our futility
It's breath on our ears
Like a man playing cards
on the body of another.

The man in the camel-hair coat
Is a sign
'the kingdom of God is near'
It is
Come close he implores
And rest on his shoulder
Give up your futility
And hear if you've ears
For you can have life
On the body of another

I want to happen with you
To occupy space
And time
Hand in hand
Arm in arm and
For the bed to be warm 
Because there are two

I want to wear your possession
Like a title
An honour
Hand in hand
Arm in arm and
For the days recounting
To light our procession

I want to be your heart's mender
Of the cuts
Of words
Hand in hand
Arm in arm and
To point out the sunset
And cover black with splendour 

I want to choose you again
From the crowd
Of the world 
Hand in hand
Arm in arm and
To to turn the page
And keep writing your name

The tobacco smell of your coffee
Enveloped me into the house
But the lazy gate of the light pull
Was taunting my late awakening

I listened to where your shoes passed
As you wrestled them onto your feet
And the crumbed remains of your lunch
Scattered by milk-tipped spoons

A house not a home set before me
The detritus of morning routine
An uneasy truce had been called
Now activity distilled into peace

Could I hear your echoed instructions
That swept children out to the car?
Or was my mind still wrapped up for transit
Through a night that ended too fast?

Oh the faces of the bored
Frozen blankly sleep is fought
Staring vaguely at the front
But dreaming soporific thought

Twenty minutes 'til the coffee
A bourbon or a custard cream
That's if the kids don't grab them first
And so we all daydream

Mavis peers at her watch
She nudges Joan and glances
The twenty minutes now have past
And forty people sit in trances

But suddenly a head is raised
Is this the application?
That 30 second indicator
We all regain sensation.

To smile at the unlovely
To duet with undue harmony
To run when a walk would do

To lift the face of the broken
To put aside the important
To concentrate completely

To take interest in the dull
To laugh with the miserable
To see past the tough exterior

To crawl with those that crawl
To walk with the unrighteous
To sprint for those that cannot stop

To stop
To listen
To keep silent
To hold

To do all this
And not ask, or boast, or criticise