DER BERLINER REGEN

the past was busy
inventing the future
making it up as it went along

I was left out
in the rain
my mind rusting

my time
in the 20th century
was coming to an end

dawn saw
the 21st century
dragged in by the hair

and screaming
at the top of its voice
"I don't want to be here!"

"Ok ok!" I yelled
at the newest of centuries
"We better get on with it!"

"No time..."
like the present
it smirked

the Berlin rain
continued
to do its thing

A HUMAN IS CRYING

the dog is dreaming
under the piano
asleep across its foot pedals

the clock announces the seconds
in a loud hear ye hear ye
town cryer's voice

a bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass
of a cracked window pane

Time is
defeated
a human is crying

Time is different
for the clock, the bee and
the crying human

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief.
his brother is dead

somewhere in the journey
around the sun
he has left the planet

earth continues on
without him
he sees his brother everywhere

strangers
wear his face
walk with his gait

he almost expects to hear
his voice in the dark
at the turn of the stairs

he sees him many times
in many mirrors
or in the back of a spoon

his face trapped
in a cobweb
it always appears as if...

as if
he has just left
the room and

will be back
any second now
but: he isn't. . .

the dog is still
asleep under the piano
the clock has run

out of time
the silence
is terrifying

the bee it seems is
dozing
on the window ledge

the human
is crying
...crying

FROST AT MIDNIGHT

frost
etches a sketch
of its self

upon a window pane
drawing itself over
& over again

whilst outside
the moon
hangs suspended

above diverging roads
pondering which path
to take

as if it had promises
to keep
I just want to sleep

but I have miles to go before
reciting  aloud to the stars
Walter De la Mare's

THE LISTENERS
to myself
to keep myself awake.

the woods fill up
with snow
making everything

a ghost
of what
it was

the woods fill up
with snow...snow
memories of long agos.

AND THE WORLD WAS AS SIMPLE AS SNOW

You are like all
the dark shops of my childhood

where you enter
with the little ****** of a bell

and the world blossoms
into a myriad of things colourful

to sell
stacked

in impossible & impeccable
order.

All yelling
shining
glinting

wild & glassy.

And the cash register singing
with the hard earned money

and the little ****** of a bell
lets you out again

into a world
excited with the falling of  snow

& the palpable approach
of  a Christmas when Christmas was Christmas

and the world
was as simple as snow.


*

I used to save up all my little pennies throughout the whole year to get my Ma "4711" and me Da "Old Spice." These were their perpetual presents but they always pretended surprise. Then there would be the trek through falling snow to enter this magical store and to have it assault one's senses and zing all around you. I can still feel my hand in my big sister's hand...our footsteps echoing into the long long ago. This little scrap of remembrance is a little treasure that I hoard...real emotional treasure more gorgeous than gold.
Pennies meant that all during summer i would forgoe ice pops when all others would be licking theirs and I would be gasping for them. Every penny save was one step nearer that magical experience of being able to buy for them and their lovely lovely faces lighting up like they was little kids. I felt very adult then and it was worth it....seeing them see my presents was the best Christmas present I could get and it was hard earned a penny at a time.

I wanted a love poem that simply didn't say the ordinary I love you but pinned it on a feeling that totally enraptured me. "You are like...." and then we depart to the regions of a feeling that still shines as brightly for me as it did then.

IF WE SHADOWS....

it was as if a cloud
had fallen asleep
in the lower field

it had already eaten
an unhitched wagon
and half a red barn

it watched us
approaching
from the yellow

windowed house
where the babies lay asleep
blowing spit bubbles

it seemed to smile in a
giant grey candy floss
way and then

started in on
first you and then
me or what

was left of me
that I could see
it had eaten all of you

except your excited voice
all you could see of me
was my nervous laughter

we had been evicted from
our known selves
and there was no known

forwarding address
we were all points of
the compass at once

“Moo!”
commented a cow
on the situation at hand

and “Moo” mimicked
the cloud having had
eaten everything

there was no place to live
except inside our thoughts
and our thoughts

walked our bodies
towards the barn that
like Mr. Schrödinger's cat

was either
there or
either not

“Moo!”
said a moo
“Moo!” said another moo

one moo almost
the clone
of the other

we had arrived
we were now
here

suddenly our arms legs and other
bits of our bodies were
returned to us

thanks to a light switch
that made us in our own image
so that we owned ourselves again

the cloud was sleeping
in the field one could almost
imagine it snoring

I clapped
my hands together
stomped my feet

“Ok!” I said
“…let’s get on with
the milking!"

*

Shadows look curiously 3-D in fog....and more real than us...I was thinking of Shakespeare's lines lost in the mists of my mind and walking with my little Tilly to milk the cows and see the new calf that had only arrived the other night. She had rushed in to tell me that there was a cloud fallen in the field and it was asleep. It was the first fog she have ever seen and this was her reasoned argument for it. We had to use the words "Fog, Lost, Directionless, Echo and Homeless" for the ideas to latch onto in the poem but not used the actual words themselves....say them without saying them....this was my attempt at doing that.

IN THE TURN OF A TEASPOON

so here I am
the earth takes another turn
without you...without you

I'm tied
to this earth
you're held captive by Death

sometimes I wish
that I could rescue you
but all I do...is...cry

all I got is my grief
Death the thief
only smiles

the earth takes another turn
(without you...without you)
so here..I am. . .


*

How even in the turn of a teaspoon with the freshly brewed cup of tea still smoking grief steps through the festive fun and we are greeted with the ghost of Christmas past. A teardrop later and the thought is pushed to the back of a mind and the ******* is taken out and the whole false ** ** ** of it all begins again. . .

THE LONG HELLO

I left
my memory
in a run-down hotel

all damp patches
& peeling
plaster

who am I?
wish
I knew

maybe I'm a salesman
traveling
in lady's underwear

naw...that
don't
seem right

I looked into the blur
that formed & unformed
before me

constructing
in my mind's eye
a Hollywood smile

that's all stage set
nothing behind it
but...fakily real

she had an Art Deco heart
she wore on her sleeve
bit frayed 'round the edges

and a laugh
that lingered
like perfume

'Hi, Petal! '
her lopsided grin
was all femme fatale

she spoke in Film Noir
I knew
the lingo

'Remember me? '
she sighed softly
as if caressing herself

remembering
me
caressing her

I sure wish I remembered
it in intimate detail
I'm a stickler for detail

this broad was slim
but with curves
in all the right places

if ya get my drift
her laugh was all
lightness and lavender

'Good...good! '
she cooed
'I see

your *******
is at least
listening!'

I involuntary
covered my crotch
with both hands

as if I was naked
I wish
she was

her curves flowed
like very runny honey
over the back of a spoon

trickling on to
the tip
of a tongue

she was strictly
yum as in
YUM!

then she went
all Cubist on me
as if
she'd been badly drawn
by that
Picasso artist fella

I felt like a 2-D drawing
as she approached me
in 3-D

my conscience found
its voice down behind
the back of the couch

it wheezed and wheedled
like it was Peter Lore
'Ouch! ' I ouched.

'Ok...ok! '
I announced
in a too loud voice

'I believe
I know...
....who done it! '

'It was...'
I stammered.
'It was...' I stuttered

'Cut it...Cutes! '
she snapped
like knicker elastic

'I guess we both know the score.'
she somehow contrived
allowed her dress to fall

to the floor
where it pooled at her feet
like a green silk puddle

'Hey has anybody told you
you look just like *** a chelli's
Birth(I burp) of Venus! '

'Cut the wise cracks Jack...
it was the drink
...done it! '

'You just had
one bottle of Baileys
too many! '

'But now...
it's finished...ya hear
...finished! '

she threw the bottle
over her naked shoulder.
I listened to her

in glorious
Technicolour hangover.
She poured her body

all around me
like jelly
in a mold

'Hung over sure...
but
I think I got the cure! '

her kiss was like
the last page of a ****
good Who...dun it!

finally falling
falling
falling

into place
I kissed her
lovely face