Dad? Do you believe that past and present meet in a place called destiny?
Or that past and future meet in a place called now?

Dad? Do child and adult, father and son, meet in a place called 'I'?
Do you see me now, Dad and revisit your past's future, your future passed?

Am I your hopes, your dreams, your rival , your mortal destiny, manifest?
Am I your friend, your blood, your child, your son?

And would you fear, if we were each other, as I feared, clawing at the cage of 'how I was taught to be not myself'?
And did you share the pain, when I made myself an island, burning bridges,  
so I could  find  the 'I' in me?

Of course .........you did.............and you quietly, stoically bore the brunt of that pain. And though  I always loved you, Dad, now I am your forever friend............................and your son.

I’m still fighting dragons, big scaly beasts.
Some I have vanquished, but some have me beat.
I picked up my armour, my helm and my spear,
From life's many conflicts year upon year.

And boldly some mornings I set out to greet,
These terrible monsters that want me as meat.
Advancing with caution, blood pounds in my ear,
Legs turn to jelly the beastie draws near!

With  deafening roar and spine-chilling haste,
The beast sets towards me intent to lay waste,
To rend and devour, consume and despoil
Leaving nothing but tatters to litter the soil.

Bravely I face it  resolved to subdue,
The evil incarnate  that comes into view.
The battle commences steel meets with claw,
Fearful but stalwart I strike at its maw.

It parries the blow asI fall to the ground,
And claws slash the space where I used to be found.
Now flat on my back I ****** with my blade,
Piercing the hide it attempts to evade.

The point of my weapon now deep in its chest,
Its  claws scrape the rings of my chain mail vest.
Its head twists around and I stare at its eye,
The evil intent there is clear to espy.

Jaws now agape and a lunge at my head,
And teeth whose sole purpose is seeing me dead,
The snap of its jaw almost tears through my craw,
The stink of its breath is the odour of war.

The essence of violence, the stench of decay.
The tincture of suffering the tang of dismay.
I gag at the foulness pervading  the air,
And retch from the pungence that sits with me there.

But I must disavow the prevailing scent,
So girding my ***** i tear and I rent.
I push with my blade driving close to its heart,
And the beast sensing death decides to  impart.

One last token of cruelty and frenzy and ire,
Disgorged from its belly, dragon breath fire!
A torrent of flame it spattered and spewed
Engulfing my armour the pain it imbued.

Like something from hell that hideous heat,
Scorching  my skin with the ache of defeat.
Ignoring the torment I pushed my steel hard,
Driving the spear tip deep into its heart.

Now it lay silent its fury all spent,
I crawled from the carcass in silent lament.
The dragon lay silent St George would be proud,
And I for my part had avoided the shroud.

                                             •  •  •

I woke from my slumber and checked my email,
A message was waiting that made me turn pale.
A dragon had found me, more combat to come,
It was my ex partner, the fight for my son.

I’m still fighting dragons, big scaly beasts,
Some I have vanquished, but some have me beat.
I pick up my armour, my helm and my spear.
I fight as a father to have my son near.
This I've been doing, year after year.



September 2010

LIFESONG

What would it take to write a simple song?
Not an overlong, complicated, complex, philosophy on right from wrong.
Nor a chastened, hastened, ditty, on tormented lovers, all angst and pity.



What would it take to write a simple song?
To see life, through the eyes of a child and run down the street, carefree and shout and scamper and sing...........and just for five minutes, live life......
live life.....
Live life as we ought, not angry and fraught, we 'grown-ups' know all about how 'life is short'.



How would it be to write a simple song?
To be bold in our hearts and to hold in our hands a flower say, or a small plastic toy?
And without grasping within, giggle with joy!


What does it take to write a simple song?
A lifetime of loves and of souls lost and found?
Our hearts search for meaning before we lie in the ground.



And how will you be when your songs nearly done?
(as is the way with everyone)
Will you think of the fun that you had as a child, and just for five minutes, will you live  a while?
and just for five minutes............remember how to smile.



   Mark........December 1999......

Mirror of Dreams


I see her now,
Stepping through the mirror of her dreams.
Dreams reflecting ancient longings.
Memories of not quite now,
Not quite what went before.

I see her now.
Waxing and waning,
Constant and in flux
The moon describing her dancing soul.

In love with birth,
In love with death,
And all that lies between.
Molding the shapes of our lives.

Writing, with a golden pen, dipped in blood,
Composes words, flowing smooth and dark,
Soaks into ivory parchment skin.

She writes in a language transcending words.
Every nuance a small spell,
Every spell a crafted cadence,
Rhythmical lines intersecting,
A life in motion,
Dancing and swaying,
To the beat of the earth,
To the music of the moon,
To the sighs of the wind,
To the song of the sea.

I see her now.
Stepping through the mirror of my dreams.
And quicksilver ripples dance as we embrace,
A pillar of pure light,
Exploding skyward where our warm bellies touch...

...as from this moment...
...as from this moment....

...nothing will be the same.

I want all of you.
You want me to want all of you .
But when I want all of you, you want me to want less of you.....more and more.......
....and that's the trouble.

If I couldst show to thee the measure of my love, wouldst thine eyes shine in radiant hues? Smoulder then in deepest lapis blues, that put to shame the very rainbow's best intent.

If I couldst share with thee, the hottest of my humors, wouldst not the boilings in that abyssal pit, pale and mediocre seem, as 'twere mine, in compare? It would melt old Vulcans's anvil, adamantine!

Take for thee, these my softest kisses, which, placed upon lips, seeming to mine own essence, as pillowed angels breath, yet, those godly messengers own sweetest puckerings, as granite, to those of my mistress.

If thou couldst pluck from my chest, a still beating heart, wouldst not the sanguine, boiling streams, scold the unforgiving stones, on which they splash?
The fiery vapours rending air, as heaven bound they rise to paint the sky, incarnadine!
And yet, merely moistening that beloved hand, which holds, the fleshy, ruby prize.

Canst thou now measure, that which knows no measure?
And like heavens starried twinkles, whose beacons point the way, know  this, infinite, is the measure of my love for thee, my mistress.

How eloquently and beautifully we hid from each other.
You with your righteous truths, hard  and cold like granite.
Marking lost-love’s old bones.

I gripped your proffered broken shovel. Worn blade rusted, and shaft broken.
Aged and useless now, worked and worked on too much cold, hard ground.  
And so the old, cold, bones below lay undisturbed.
Deep and all but forgotten  
Forever waiting to be found.  
                

Mine? Barbed wire…a measured demarcation simply, efficiently separating a field of dreams from a shell-pocked Somme….taught, unyielding, sharp and unforgiving.


You, a brave soldier hacked and bit and and gnawed at the unforgiving steel wire, tormented by the verdant vision, which lay beyond.
Striving to reach that goal.
That which lay beyond the muddy battlefield….
Beyond the rigid stinking corpses….
Beyond the ghastly horror.
I know you saw a bright field of soft scented blooms and dreamed of resting, head pillowed on sweet, rainbow petals, scented nectar and  soft green grass.

I  would have gladly surrendered the wire cutters, but, blunted and useless, dulled by one or two, too many tries… there was no use.
You see my dear, they were long ago worn down. Worn down on many a marbled  headstone.
Their once keen edge, ground and blunted on words which said ‘here lies love’
(May it rest in peace).

There they sit and there they lie, the gravedigger and the soldier….
The soldier, torn and tattered upon the ****** barbs……
The gravedigger, frail and worn, broken shovel resting on broken feet…..

These were the culmination of our defences
Our defences…
Mine a spiked barrier,
yours an  epitaph in  stone.

******, battered love hungry body
and weeping gravedigger by loves tombstone.

I will write something,
but maybe tomorrow.

Tonight , which has all too quickly become morning,
I am drinking wine.
And watching pre recorded TV.

Undateables, which gives hope to to the hapless
and help for the hopeless,
Is, tonight, enough for me.

Tomorrow, I shall wake and Impress you all, with my witty prose,
and my clever repartee.

But tonight, which is morning,
I will think on it
and wait upon Calliope.