an easy word to say
to spell
and to live by
so you would think

should be easy
and yet
it is hard
so hard

you are seen as a threat
if you stand up
and speak
an alternate opinion

tall poppy in the cornfield
head above the parapet
in the line of fire
why should it be so

ego
fear
loss of face
stand in the way

the world would be
such an easier place
if alternate views were respected
and differences honoured

I really really
must not scratch
this itchy itchy itch
but what to do
when all your hands
just want to do is scratch

Diagnosed this morning
by Doctor Wicky Wong
I don't like the look of those
he said
Neither do I
I wished him wrong

Back I went this evening
as more spots they had appeared
He looked a little closer
muttered words I could barely hear
off work 3 days not 1 he said
Contagious these may spread

So here I am at home alone
with nowt to do but write
a load of twaddle on the page
as shingles rages rife
when what I'd really love to do
is sleep say nighty night

how is it possible
to be so very lonely
when
here
on this equatorial isle
it
is
impossible
to be alone

It is strange
yet not
being back here on
the isle of my forefathers
Of I

Everything is different
yet
nothing has changed

Seagulls call and
the air smells of seaweed
There are pink flowers in baskets
and the sky is blue
That endless blue of timeless childhood summers

Here my name is not an aberration
'ueu' is an everyday tripthong
'Le' a rule not an exception
I am not an exception either

After half a century
discovery
I am one of a tribe after all

Ancestors
people I have never known
not even in name lest alone body
Reaching way back in time
Predominantly French
or of this isle

The Germans
photographed every islander
when they occupied this dot of granite
as bombs fell on Europe in a rain of death

The Occupation was a dark period of
hunger and cruelty
but thanks to these photos
I have seen my heritage
etched on faces so familiar
yet never met

I learned just now
my paternal grandfather had gunshot wounds
along his right side and arm and leg
Mementos of the Somme
of Passchedale
and Ypres

I discovered he died of
carcinoma of the lungs
like my mother
my uncle
several aunts
and my Pa

He survived four years of the Great War
water logged trenches
blood-rusty bayonets
horror and starvation
Just one of a few to come home
Military Medal pinned to his chest
5 feet tall yet battle hardy
witnessing things
doing things
no man nor woman should ever do

But Grandpa (how joyous to hear that word on my lips!)
couldn't defeat
the silent enemy
that waged its war within

All this new knowledge
somehow makes me feel older
Not in years
but in history

Tattoos of my heritage
now pattern my bones

My parents are both dead
I have no siblings
no partner
no children
but now I am
no longer alone

Tears of salt, ties of
blood tight; father and daughter
no distance can part.

ice ... ice ... ice ... ice
Nothing. De nada.
Zilch. Zero.
My creativity's out to lunch,
just as it has been for 18 months.

I don't know what to do.

I'm scared, you know.
Words are my rock,
my port in a stormy sea.
I am stuck in the ice
and it ain't very nice.

I don't know what to do.

I've looked in here
and I've looked over there.
It's like I've died a death.
My heart is beating
and I'm still eating.

I don't know what to do.

Perhaps I should turn
my face to the sun
and bathe in its warming light.
Maybe that will reignite the flame,
melt the ice and I will write once again.

Yes...now I know what to do.

The light is the truth
Religion says

I'm not sure that's the case

For it's in the dark
I really see

infinity

no beginning
no end