AND ALL FOR NOTHING

the house waited for him
like the faithful dog
he had not got

"Hello...hello!" said the house
smiling
with all of itself

"Welcome!" said the mat
his own home at last
the silence filled up with his footsteps

"Read me...no read me!"
the books on his shelves
argued amongst themselves

made himself a G&T
watched the sunset
like it was TV

slowly the night
crept through the house
found him asleep in the chair

he startled awake
saw her smiling at him
from an old photo

he turned the photo
face down. . .a tear ran
into the edge of his moustache

"And all for nothing..."
he told himself
"...all for nothing!"


*

I never got to see this fabulous house. I met him in a pub and we just fell into talking...then he'd have to get a train back to Manchester to "my house!" But somehow the house in words was greater than any house he could show me. He was Greek and would always tell me that his wife was "the King of my house!" Because his English was not good( learnt from movies )he had picked up the King of Siam's "etc., etc., etc." phrase in order to fill in the thoughts suggested but unavailable to him in words. Every time I see this fabulous film I remember him and how his wife was "the King of my house and my heart!"
The big dream was to own his own home. Then he got married and his wife died in childbirth so now the big dream( ever since he was a little kid )was here but....empty.

I prefer the "not knowing" in the poem. The elements in the poem are the delight in having the dream house and then for the sorrow and the emptiness you have to imagine the rest...asking the reader to complete the poem with their imagination. An air of mystery...suffice it to say...something soul destroying has happened but the wondering what it is...is...another poem.

LADYBIRD SUMMER

was it back somewhere
in the January of '76
that I was 'Wide Eyed and

Legless" and becoming
pregnant without
even knowing.

totally in love with
Amen Corner
making love to it

now July swelters
a terrible time
to carry a baby

and heavy shopping
up three flights of stairs
each step crushing

hoards and hoards
of ladybirds
over and over

the roads
melting
sticking to my footsteps

"Sun, sun sun -  here it comes!"
now blasts from
the tiny transistor

Summer heatwave
wave of nostalgia
for the Beatles of my youth

but fancying
Steve Harley
head over heels

even my soon-to-be born
child somersaults
inside me

I will call him Steve
or Stevie if it's a girl
father now only a photograph

RUNNING TOWARDS THE LIGHT

fear of War
walks upon the air
strides across a countryside

like a gigantic
demonic **** in Boots
a Grimm tale let loose

upon a world
that can only offer
in its defence

the beauty of this spiderweb
thrown across
the space between

hedgerow and fence
this the last sunset
that will ever know "Peace...

. . .in our time."
I fear Mr. Chamberlain
has got it - wrong

Herr ****** has caught the bus
a hawk hovers
in its beauty

I sit making
its jesses
and leashes

already I can see
I stand in the ruins
of my life

an ordinary man
turning into
history

War invisible
yet totally tangible
its hand touching

my landscape
an ancient chalk man
holding the gates open

the what will
be...will...be
a sunset caught

in a spiderweb
the last time
I ever was me

I HAVE NO GIFTS TO BRING

I bring him back
bits of the world

like a child would.

Broken green glass
among the grass

like grass on fire
with green.

A cat that yawns
and every time it yawns

it has the bark
of an invisible dog

sound and sight
synchronised for a laugh.

A swan sitting on
a park bench

as if it were a park bench
for SWANS ONLY.

All these useless
bits of broken world

that my father will never see
I carry them back in words

like a child trying to capture
the sea in a blue bucket

trying not to spill a single thing
that's seen

back to Nass
General Hospital.

Offer them up like treasure
as only the child I was

could.

And then and now
your smile

treating them
as wondrous to behold

"Is the world so?"

"It is so!"
I say

both as man and boy.

The glass grins
shining in the sun

like a little green
fire.

A cat caught
mid yawn

by some ventriloquist
dog in a lonely backyard.

A swan who thinks
it's human.

You smile
at these gifts I bring

such little thing

to offer
to your dying.  

*

We used to be at the hospital from morning to night. When others came I would leave so that he wouldn't feel crowded. Outside Nass hospital there is a large pond where many many swans and lots of different ducks hang out! When I came back he would ask me if had been talking to the swans again. And of course I had.
I only inherited his smile and his love of words. The other boys inherited his good looks and musical talent and practical ability.

I could only bring him things in words.

All that was to be seen were the things that made it into the poem...little things of little or no interest. A very buxom jogger jog by in pin skin-tight spandex singing of all things in March....The Little Drummer Boy. She didn't make it into the poem but she did kickstart the idea of the gifts.

I would bring him back whatever I saw. He would always ask and laugh at what I had to report. They were simple things but things he would never see again. These become precious just because of that. He found it difficult to breath an yet all he wished was that he could play his harmonica again and be at home setting the fire. Again simple pleasure but out of his reach.

THE SCENT OF LAUGHTER

their laughter gathers them
together
forehead to forehead

as if one being
the world seen
from the one mind

their laughter
entangled
in the scent of roses

that rises now
from a past long since
gone

like a half forgotten fairy tale
the scent still present
to his remembrance

as if
that then
was still now

what are they
laughing at...?
he fails to remember

only
their nearness
the scent of roses

RUINS

here now
even time
has died

people and place
alive
only in memory

as if a past
had never
existed

all trace
of who or
what they were

gone now
lost on the wind
that roams over stones

where dwelt
this house
and all of its people

and I by sleight of mind
a great magician
making it all happen

once again
as if it never could
fade away


*

My old home is just stone and nettles and birdsong as is my uncle's farmhouse with trees growing inside the house. The house I grew up in was just mud and air the last time I saw....you just walk through the nothing there.

SPRING  DON'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER

"Ok..!"  shouted Spring
"I know y'are in there..!"

Spring had the house
surrounded.

It had trees stationed
all about my abode

aiming their apple blossom
straight at me.

Already their perfume
had invaded the room.

I had turned into
THE INCREDIBLE SULK

sunk into
a blue funk

there was to be
no escape from.

Even my reflection wouldn't
look at me.

"OK..!' shouted Spring yet again
"...just look out your window....

surely you can see you
don't stand a chance!"

I couldn't help my self
I gave a panicked glance.

Platoons of daffodils
waiting to charge the house

yelling in yellow.

"Ok fella...this is your last chance
I'm going count to then...."

"Alright....alright...it's a fair cop
I'll come quietly!"

I kicked open the door
hands held above my head.

The trees had me
cornered.

The sunlight had me
blinded.

Happiness...sheer ******...happiness
grabbed me by the heart.

"Ok kid...easy now...easy!"
Spring soothed me

"Everything's gonna be ok...
...Ok?"

I sobbed on its shoulder
threw my despair away.