I have only just finished
making Mr D's bed
in the old folks home
when Sophia's there
by the door
arms folded
her eyes searching me

it was close thing
yesterday night
she says

I look at her
wondering how
I got out of her place
with her parents
looking at me
in such a way
and I felt it
was close as close
as being caught
as being caught can be

how'd it go?
I ask

she closes the door
of the room behind her

you cannot come anymore
while they are out
must be
when they are in
she says
standing by the bed  
making me wonder
what the hell happened

what did they say?

she looks at me
then at the bed
good ***?

not now
I say

no
she says
last night before
they come
and spoil it

yes it was
I say
thinking my *** days
were over
the way her father
looked at me

I stand up
and move away
from the bed
and move by her
to get to the window
and open up
to let in fresh air

you come again?
see parents?
she says
they give you
benefit of the doubt
I say you
my good Catholic boyfriend
she says
coming to me
by the window

I guess
I say
when?

not too soon
but you come
she says her Polish accent
driving through her words

but no ***
I guess
I say

she shrugs
and moves close to me
and says
we see
if not there
maybe here
in one
of the old boys' beds?

no not here
it's too risky

risky at my place too
she says
putting her arms
around my waist
her breath on my skin

what if old
Mr D comes in?

he not come up here
in the day
I talk with him
he say too far
to come
he stay downstairs
in day time

but what if
someone else comes?
I say
trying to move
out and off

who come?
she says

she kisses me
then a bell rings

look must go
morning break
coffee or tea
in the staff room
if we're not there
they'll think something
and then
God's knows what

ok
she says
moving away
and so she goes
and I am hot.

Nima sits
on the grass
just outside
the mental
hospital

I’m with her
in a chair
watching her
finger roll
a thin smoke

her nightgown
has flowers
bright yellow
with green leaves

what's it like?
I ask her

what's what like?
she replies

this madhouse
hospital
and the staff?

she lights up
the thin smoke
and inhales

could be worse
she mutters
exhaling
drug addicts
come here now
on this wing

I see her
empty eyes
the pale skin
random spots
on her chin

not had ***
for so long
I’m almost
virginal
she tells me

how are you
in yourself?

I don't know
kind of numb
want a fix
want some ***

she looks down
at the grass

how are you?
she asks me

surviving
as one does
playing jazz
drinking *****
missing you
I reply

miss you too

she's silent
keeps smoking
a thin gap
appears in
her nightgown
near her thigh
glimpse of skin

that last ***
in London
was quite good
she mutters

I recall
her laying
on a bed
birth naked
in that small
hotel room
her garden
of Eden
hot waiting

where's it end?
I ask her

I don't know
she utters
in some room
all alone
or in one
of London’s
dark gutters.

The Chopin piece played
still pays in my head
as I kiss her shoulder,
soft, hard, my lips
brushing, moving in,
my tongue tasting,
snake like.

She enfolds me
with her arms,
her hands on my back,
holding me there,
capturing me lest
I seek escape(as if),
her hands, fingers
run upon my skin.

Far off, voices,
laughter, coming back
from the hotel restaurant,
late hours;
we engaged
in love making,
uncaring, dismissing.

Lips kiss her neck,
touch, brush, wet,
sensual; I move my hand
along her thigh;
watch her eyes open wide,
her mouth forming
a small O and moving
into harbour the small O
becomes more oval
as if to swallow whole.

I loved the Chopin
Abela whispers
such a soft touch.

Mmm,
I say,
so good, so much.

I can't believe
how raw I feel
despite the length
of unwound time.

The gripping heart,
like fingers
squeezing tight,
the same flow up
behind the eyes,

the same sensation
around the throat
like one about to choke,
like the inhalation
of flameless smoke,

the opening up
of wounds one thought
were healing,
that rawness,
that deep plunging in,
that cold hurt feeling
still sinking in.

O my dear one,
my dead son,
O you just beyond
my reach or seeming so,
tell me where you are
that I may go.

No, no,
I know,
time's hand
will tick it
soon enough,
I guess,
whether months
or years or countless
decades, like ocean's wide.

Still raw,
still seeking
that place to weep,
that place to hide.

Who's the ****?
Reynard asks
as Yiska
walks away
her bottom
cool swaying
her grey skirt

a girl friend
I tell him

another one?

who's counting?

what's she like?

innocent
as flowers
(she wasn't
but said so
to no one)

time wasters
Reynard says
watching her
join her friends
on the grass
of the field
by the school

I watch her
different
year younger
than I was

football then?
he asks me
turning round
while there's time?

I smell her
still near me
OK then
I reply
walking on
to the game
just started

blow a kiss
back to her
she catches
with both hands
to her heart

here Benny
someone calls
throws a ball
I take part.

Christina was with friends
schoolgirls like her
and she saw me

coming across
the sports field
she left them

and met me
and I heard them
cackle like hens

I’d turned down
Reynard's game
of football

to be there
what's tickling
their fancy?

I asked
nodding
towards the girls

on the field
O you know
what girls are like

any juicy bit
of gossip
to bite on

what gossip is that?
about the gym
and us the other day

she said
and that prefect
turfing us out

O that
I said
looking at her eyes

seeing worlds there
I wish I was in your year
she said

then I
would be leaving school
this year

instead of next
shouldn't wish
your life away

or before you know it
you'll be an old lady
with grey hair

and wrinkles
God forbid
she said smiling

we walked up
the field together
she talked

of her parent's rowing
and her mother's moods
and how her big brother

had  done things
but then she broke off
and talked

of the girl in her class
who thought
she was dying

because she had
started to bleed
during P.E

we got to fence
which separated
the field from the road

where cars and lorries
were going by
she looked back

at the field
we don't get
enough time together

she said
you being
in a village

miles away
and I living
in this boring town

at least we do
see each other
I said

not enough
of each other though
she said

her lips stopped
and parted slightly
I gazed at her

for a few moments
taking in her eyes
and lips

that kiss
in the gym
she said

that could have
led somewhere
could it?

I said
yes it may
she said

BENNY
someone called my name
across the field

who the heck is that?
she said
my mate Reynard

I said
what's he want?
football game I expect

you're not going
to play football
are you?

she said
I waved away Rolland
indicating I wasn't playing

and he ran off
with other boys
towards the goals

on the other end
of the field
she looked at the boys

kicking a ball around
never understand boys
she said

what do they see
in kicking a ball about?
never mind them

I said
we have limited
time together

she nodded
and she looked back
at the field seeing

who was nearby
and who was who
then she came

close to me
and kissed me
her lips warm

and wet
skin on skin
tongues touched

a fire like sense
raced along
my nerves

I closed my eyes
and so did she
and we were

in places
and positions
in our minds

where
we wanted
to be.

Your husband stands
by the window, his tall,

thin frame is turned
from you, he is looking

at the fields beyond
the garden, the low

window that he looks
through makes his

mild stoop worse.
You gaze at him

with a mixture of
mild interest and

a vague knowledge
of who he is and

what he is doing there.

Even as she sleeps
she dreams of him.

Coloured pictures,
actions, words,
senseless, changing
upon scene
upon scene.

She stirs.

Moves about
the bed.

She dreams of him
even in her sleep,
action packed,
******, kisses
given, received,
put on hold.

She sighs,
wordless,
moves hand
to her *******,
eyes closed,
head full
of dreams.

Awake
she'll know
he's dead,
but in sleep
nothing is
what it seems.

Some days you try to
Imagine baby’s
Still there, still within

You. Still kicking, still
Moving, the small lump
Growing larger, the

Appetite for odd
Things still on your tongue.
But you know it’s gone,

The stillness like a
Vast universe, all
Quiet with dead stars

And galaxies and
Cold dust. You try to
Pretend the baby’s

Kicking, watch for the
Lump to move, hope the
Death was a bad dream

Drawn out over months,
The doctors lying,
The nurse pretending

That baby had died,
No happy ending.
Some nights if you lay

Quiet and have no
Act of will to doubt,
You can feel it still.

Milka stares
at the fields
at the woods
at the sky

(coloured blue
as if it
was painted
by a child)

from her room
the window
open wide
her brother's

were at work
her mother
out shopping
her father

on the farm
yesterday
Benedict
and she lay

on her bed
they kissing
embracing
while downstairs

her mother
was cooking
the dinner
her brothers

out fishing
her father
milking cows
Milka stares

at her bed
empty now
Benedict
back at work

she alone
in her room
just the warm
memory

of his kiss
on her lips
and his lips
would have kissed

her elsewhere
other than
but she'd not
let him there.

There she is
in the field
Jane waving

to the birds
in the sky
above us

wave she says
so I wave
to the rooks

overhead
then they've gone
out of sight

I watch her
her hair free
her eyes bright

this is it
she says loud
arms outstretched

palms open
this is art
God's own art

she utters
she is art
to my eyes

the beauty
of her form
her soft voice

uttering
we are here
we're alive

this moment
I love her
her being

her hands clap
birds fly out
from hedgerows

winging up
we need wings
she tells me

***** her arms
I kiss her
in my mind

embrace her
in my dreams
let us fly

she calls out
I follow
arms flapping

don't know why.

There was snow
and ECTs
and the locked doors
of the locked ward

and Yiska was sitting
by the window
looking at the sunrise
after an almost

sleepless night
looks deep
I said
looking out

at the snow
on the trees and fields
she gazed at me
can't you sleep either?

bits and pieces of sleep
snatches of dreams
or nightmares
I said

I heard you
with that night nurse
during the night
Yiska said

asking her about
going home
you were awake too?
yes I got up for a while

and stared at the snow
coming down
against the moon's light
it looked so peaceful

so surreal
being stuck in here
seems surreal
I said

we'll get out one day
she said
walk out
into the free air

and no quacks or nurses
snooping over you
and no more ECTs
no more **** headaches

and all because
that ******* left me
at the altar
on my wedding day

I looked at her
sitting there
her hair unbrushed
her eyes red

her dressing gown
loose and pulled over
her white legs
gives you time to think

of things you don't want
to think about
and the ECTs
don't help

despite
what they claim
I said
when I woke up that time

after one
of my ECT sessions
my head was heavy with pain
and I saw you

lying on the bed
next to mine
and thought momentarily
we were dead

and I’d woken
in some kind of Limbo
with that white light
coming through cracks

in the shutters
then you woke
and we stared at each other
and never spoke.

These arms
would love
to hold you
close again.

These hands
would wish
to bless
above your brow,
through mist,
somehow.

Theses lips want
to kiss your forehead
as they did
before you died.

These eyes want
to collect the tears
they've shed
and swim to you
through time's hold.  

These words,
my son, these words,
seem too fragile
for their task,
too frail to convey
the love I have,
hope they get to you,
not fail.

There's a patch
of dull sky
visible through

a parting in
the curtain
of her room

it is morning
Ingrid stirs
in her bed

feels the bruises
on her thighs
moves more carefully

to the side
of the bed
and sits grasping

the day and hour
her father's voice
still echoes

in her ears and mind
both her elder
brother and sister

have now left
last night's row
saw the flight

of the other
leaving just Ingrid
and her mother

and her father's wrath
and spiteful blows
from across the road

in Rockingham Street
the sounding
of the horses' hooves
and coal man's feet
and vans and cars
going past

and she sitting
sensing her bruises
like medals

of a war
similar to beatings
she's had before

Benny will know
he always does
either by her dull eyes
or sensing her

whimpish sighs
as she moves or sits
what's your old man

been up to now
he'll say
and pretends

(from the balcony
with his toy gun)
to blow

her father's
bullish head
away.

What have you there?
Janice asks

I show her
the 10 Weights
cigarettes packet

where'd you find them?

outside
the Duke of Wellington pub
some one
must have dropped them
I say

she looks at them
then at me

what are you going
to do with them?

give them
to my old man
I guess
he smokes these

won't he want
to go
how you came
by them?

he won't care
he never
asks questions
like that

I put the cigarettes
in the back pocket
of my jeans

my gran asks me
all questions
Janice says
I am so open
with her
because I can't tell
a lie to her
she seems to know

will you tell her
I found the smokes?

not if
she doesn't
ask me

I smoked a cigarette
once or twice
I tell her

where'd you get
a cigarette from?

I made it
out of cigarette
**** ends I found
and borrowed
a cigarette paper
from my uncle
(he didn't know)
and made one

her eyes enlarge

did you smoke it?

yes of course

what did it
taste like?

bitter
and made me
cough and splutter
I say

she puts her hand
to her mouth
her blue eyes
stare at me
as if I'd said
a rude word
or plucked feathers
from a living bird.

There was a knife fight
in Stockholm the night before
and next morning
Dalya says to me

did you see it?

yes I was a few feet away
just broke out
like a struck match
two guys near me
began pushing
and one drew a knife

what did you ?

sold tickets

no really ?

nothing I just moved out
of harms way
and wondered what
it was about
there was a dame nearby
so maybe they
were fighting over her
I say

was she screaming?
Dalya asks

no she was saying
stop it
and don't be fools
and such words

and did they?

no they kind of
encircled each other
then a siren went off
and cops came
and they melted
into the crowd
and I walked on
to the nearest bar
for a beer and smoke
where were you?
I ask

looking for you
you weren't where
you said you'd be
I met that Polish
mother and daughter
and we went off
in the city and yes
it was ok
but I wanted
to meet you
I couldn't invite them
into my tent could I?

guess not
anyway we can
go off today
in the City
and maybe I can
enter your tent tonight
now the German girl's
gone off
with the Aussie
I say

I'm promising nothing
she says

so we went into the City
on a bus about 10
and I felt
like a prince
amongst men.

Yiska sits
on the grass
for the school

photograph
with others
looking out

at the man
with the box
camera

calling out
watch the bird
or say cheese

but she thinks
of Benny
and her at

lunchtime
behind the
maths classroom

sitting there
on a wall
both kissing

and holding
and tonguing
and touching

getting hot
and alive
with each their

desire
on fire
then someone

knocked on glass
to alert them
and shoo them

off from there
some teacher
mouthing words

gesturing
so now she
sits brooding

not smiling
no longer
being kissed

or embraced
or close touched
just posing

so undone
no pleasure
no fun.

Fay met me
at end of the New Kent Road
after school

I told her I’d walk
not get the bus
(I'd spent the fare money
on doughnuts that morning)

she was in her uniform
the posh Catholic school
her parents said
she had to go to

how's it going?
I asked her

she pulled a face
usual stuff
had to learn
all about
the Assumption
of the Blessed ****** Mary
into Heaven
she said

sounds fascinating
I said
glad I missed it

she smiled
no it was interesting
and an item
of our faith
but it's the way
the nun kept on
about it
and pointing
her finger at us
as if we would go to Hell
if we forgot one idea
she said

I know what you mean
Mr J is the same
about science
his beady eyes search us
like some new day Cromwell
what the heck
do I care what chemical
goes with what

we crossed over the road
and down by some shops
I want to show you something
I said

what is it?

you'll see

the last time you said that
you showed me a dead rat
she said

well it was dead
I said

I know but you didn't
have to swing it
by the tail towards me

I smiled
yes crazy thing to do

we came to the shop window
and I showed her
the item

a stamp album?

yes I thought
I’d collect stamps again
I said

she gazed at me
better than firing
that catapult of yours

and it's quite cheap
only 2/-

have you got 2/-?

not yet
but if I do
a few chores
I can get it I guess

lucky you
she said
I do chores
and get nothing
except build up
my bank account
in Heaven
my father tells me
by good deeds

sounds cool
only I like to see
the money now
I said

we walked on and down
Meadow Row
she told me all about
the Assumption
of the Blessed ****** Mary
and I listened to the sound
of her voice
like some sweet melody
going round
in my brain

and when she'd finished
I said
tell me again.

Looking back
at that time
everything

falls in place,
but drawn out,
slow motion,

nightmare like
in its depth,
in your death.

You, my son,
so passive,
so Stoic

when we spoke
that last time,
no panic

in your face
or your eyes.
I panicked,

seeing you
so bloated
that I rowed

with the nurse.
You, my son,
sitting there

sipping juice
out of breath,
said little,

felt tired,
eyes closing,
I thought you

were dozing,
but unknown
to us there,

death was near,
close at hand
in the air.

I would wish
you here,

here as you were;
the eyes large

and deep
as oceans.

I would
have you

to hold,
back from

the dead,
not some place else,

but here instead.
I would

that you would
speak again,

soft, deep
and with that

hint of joy,
my lost son,

my grown man -
boy.

Jane is there
by the hedge
down the lane

dressed in grey
her black hair
hanging free
of ribbons

her dark eyes
focusing
as I walk
towards her

have you been
waiting long?
I asked her

no not long
she replies
watching birds
in her hedge
and the sky

been helping
my father
saw some logs
I tell her

let's go see
the empty
old cottage
she suggests

so we walk
down the lane

rooks above
making noise

running stream
beside us

other birds
are in flight
making song

I watch her
beside me

her grey dress
moving free
as she walks

her black hair
shoulder length

she smells of
fresh flowers

in some dreams
of my nights
she is there

and we kiss
and we run
through the fields

hands waving
to the rooks
in the sky

the empty
old cottage
stands silent
and we stare
in silence

all I want
is to kiss
her two lips
waiting there.

They would
have shared that-

the hands
embracing his-

she looked away,
her eyes full

as water basins.
He let his lips

brush against
her *****,

soft as peaches.
I closed the book,

let the air
pushed from pages,

kiss my brow.
He loved her

to a sea depth;
she loved him,

too,
some how.

I've been waiting
all morning
all through boring
brain-muddling lessons
to see you
Yiska says

as I go onto
the school sports field
during lunch recess

and I was hoping
against hope
that it wouldn't rain
and keep us indoors

well I’m here now
I say
let's go walk together
up field

so we walk pass
boys kicking ball
and girls skip-roping
or sitting in groups
talking and laughing

and she says
if my mother moans
one more time
about my room
being untidy
I’m going to spit blood
after all
it's my room
my mess
you’ve been in there
that time
do you think
it's so messy?

I could live with it
I guess

well there you go
that's it
living with it
but no
my mother
has to have a go
your room's so untidy
what will
the neighbours say?
she says
the neighbours
aren't going to see
my **** room
I tell her

we reach the upper fence
of the field
and stop
and turn around
and look at the kids
on the field
and the school
in the background

how's your room?
she asks

it's ok
I share with my brother
we keep it tidyish

she looks at me
wish you could come
to my room again

maybe I will
when you invite me
one lunch time
I say

I will ask my mother
when she's in
her upper mood

she looks at the field
and kids

no one's looking

and she kisses me
and I sense a slit
in the universe
and a sliver of light
open up
inside my head
and stirs me
else place
as no doubt
she can see
on my young face.

I have you still, my son:
photos, memories,
things you touched,
where you stood,
where you sat,
where you'd been,
where you were at.

I have you still:
tee-shirts, shirts,
wallet, black and leather,
empty now, passport
with your photo inside,
other things of yours
left behind, inherited,
gifts maybe from the dead.

But not the you
I can hug or embrace,
or talk to quietly,
face to face,
not the you
with chuckled laughter,
dry humour and wit,
not any of that,
not one bit.

I have you still:
dreams in black and white
or coloured rather weird
as dreams are, nightmares
walking the dark corridors
of the hospital,
the bed at the end,
you there swollen,
hard of breath,
awaiting death.

John felt hot
Elaine had
seemed at ease

being there
on the field
at high school

he tried not
to bore her
with his talk

of bird's eggs
or local
butterflies

that last kiss
suddenly
had shook her

upset her
just a kiss
no hidden

agenda
not wanting
anything

more than that
just the kiss
to express

deeper things
like bird song
and bright springs.

If my old man said
get neat dressed
washed up

and do your hair
we're going
to the cinema

or up West
I washed up
dressed

in my best suit
and Brylcreemed
my hair

and I was there
just him and me
no other to share

I didn't care
I was there
not elsewhere

and it was
ice cream
or lolly

and best seat
in the house
and I was glad

I was there
not elsewhere
just us

I didn't care
yet when
my mother

took us away
and not there
but elsewhere

away from him
I didn't care
I wasn't there

but elsewhere
for he
was a ****** to her

and made her hurt
and cry
and didn’t care

so I was glad
I wasn't there
with him

but elsewhere
with her
for he was not

worth my care
so I was out
of there

and elsewhere
so there
I didn't care.

What people say
or do

is of less interest
to me

than why
they do

or say
what they do.

The psychology
behind

words
and deeds.

We'll never get
those times back now,
least not for real,
in mind maybe,
viewing photographs,
recalling past times,
long ago laughs.

But now it's just that,
memories in stacks,
memories of you,
places, things done,
things said; gone now,
you being dead.

You kept words
to a minimum,
used them
like precious coins;
seldom making
statements; rarely
getting in involved
in the small talk,
the day to day banter;
but when you did,
came out of your shell,
it all meant
something more,
special, done well.

Even at the Tate Modern
you kept your views
of the art and artists
to yourself; their skill
or lack of, never
mentioned or hinted at;
just your quiet viewing,
that way you had
of taking things in,
ordering them neatly
inside your head;
your encyclopediatic  
knowledge of matters,
or so seemed,
you processed;
that look you had,
seemingly impassive,
unmoved, but moved
you were, a soul like
yours so often is,
deeply moved that is,  
your eyes taking in,
your mind processing
the whole show,
as you did before,
in your own way
of having your say.

Wish you were
still here, with your
few words, that look
of yours, back here today.

I hugged you
the other night
in my drugged up sleep;
I’d forgotten

until the day wore on
and the drug hangover
settled down
to a dreary hum.

You were not
the young kid you,
but older, mature,
sitting in an armchair,

in one of your
work shirts
open necked
without tie;

and we hugged
as if I knew
in the dream
you were dead,

but it didn't
enter the head;
no words were said.
I wish I could dream

that hug every night,
hold you tighter
as each night
came around,

silent like old movies,
father and son,
living and dead,
in the dream

inside my head.
I don't usually
remember dreams
in my drugged up sleep;

they're just a blur
of nothingness
until the dawn
pushes through

my lids to wake
to a dull day;
but that night
I dreamt I hugged you,

my son,
just us,
alone,
one to one.

We stopped in the porch
of the church
as the others had
gone into the church
for choir practice

the moon was bright
stars sprinkled
we were shadowy
in the porch
light and darkness

Yehudit was breathing heavy
sounding out of breath
not often we get
to be alone
she said

no guess not
I said

she looked out
at the moon
hearing the voices
of the others
becoming distant

you do love me
don't you?
she said
looking back at me

sure I do
I said

do you mean it?
she asked

of course I do
wouldn't say it
otherwise
I said

she looked at me
her eyes
were half hidden
in the semi dark

you seem to avoid me
at school
she said
even in class
you seldom
look my way

I pondered
on her words
she was right
I didn't peer
in her direction
in class
or seek her
out much at school
unless we were on
the sports field
if the weather was good

I’m with Rolland a lot
we have a laugh
can't get
into this romance thing
in class
anyway you're one side
of the class
and I’m the other

but you could
still look at me
and smile
when I do
she said

I do smile

not often
not enough

I blew you a kiss
the other day
I said

I missed that

you turned your head
at the wrong minute
it hit the back
of your head

I feel neglected
she said
I loved you
the first time
I saw you that day
you started at our school
I loved you
from the first moment

I gazed
at the showy outline
of her hair
untidy as usual
her breath
like shallow smoke
in the air
I noticed
I said
your eyes seldom
left that first day

do you love me?
she said

sure I do
I said

there were voices
coming from the church
singing had begun

we're going to be late
I said

kiss me

I kissed her
we hugged
we kissed again
then taking my hand
she pulled me
into the evening
and into the rain.

Lizbeth waited for me
by the milk sheds
(I’d been weighing milk
at the farm)

she was dressed
in a black skirt
and green blouse
her hair loose
about her shoulders

thought you'd never
be out
she said

how did you know
I was here?
I asked

your mum told me
when I called
at the cottage

I didn't know
you were coming
out here
in the countryside
to see me

thought I’d
surprise you
she said
didn't know
you'd be
at the farm

I do it
when I can

how can you be
near cows
they smell
she looked at me
critically
I thought
we could go
somewhere together
she said

what for?
I asked

you know
she said

don't you ever
give up on that?
I said

on what?

you know

she smiled
must be some place
we can be alone
she said

I can't think
of anywhere
I said

what about
your bedroom?

you have been
there before
I said

yes I know
but only to see
your fossils
and rabbit skulls
and butterfly collection
and Spitfire model
she said

I walked on
she followed

we could have
done things
she said

we did
we looked
at my nature collection

I didn't want
to see
your nature collection
I wanted ***
she said loudly

a few birds
flew from the hedge
the word echoed
around the fields
about us
like thunder

maybe some
other day or time
I said
I got to home
and change
out of these clothes

she followed me moodily
through the small wood

I walked quickly
or she'd want ***
there
if she could.

Words-
yours, the last ones,
the ones I try to recapture,
illusive now, my son,
just out of reach
of memory's touch.

Words-
not famous ones,
not of depth or
philosophical
or world changing,
but yours,
last breath spoken,
before I left,
exchanging of words,
out there still
in the atmosphere
ghostly, haunting,
yours, my son,
the final words,
what the last one?

Words-
fragmented now,
my brain searches
through the corridor
of cells, seeking
in the drawers marked
forgotten, the last words,
yours, my son:
what was
the final one?

The young monk
stood in the cloister,
half in shade,
half in light;

his thin hands
hidden
in the wide
black sleeves

of his habit.
Three black robed monks
met me
on the narrow road

to the abbey.
A bell tolled
from the bell tower,
loud and clear

over the fields,
disturbing birds
from trees.
An old monk,

bony,
sickened,
knelt in a prayer
on his frail knees.

He dreamt
she was
in his bed,
had crept in

without him
knowing.
He could feel
her hand

on his arm,
resting there,
her breathing slow
not rapid.

He sensed
his body stiffen
with apprehension,
with what

she might do,
and how
to explain her away
should his mother

come in and see?
But when he woke
it was his kid brother
laying there

as per norm,
not her
trying it on
as he'd feared.

But he wouldn't
tell her
when he got
to school,

he'd say nothing
to please her
and hear her say:
Did you?

And add:
of course not,
you wouldn't let me.
He saw

the morning sun
creep in
through the window,
its waking up light,

start of a new day.
He'd not tell her,
not ever,
no way.

There's a hair on your old shirt
part of the dead you.
It's there still: black against blue.

We hid under
the railway bridge
in Arch Road
by the back
of the coal wharf

it was raining
we stared out
at the falling wetness
coming down heavy

just as well
we were near here
Ingrid said
otherwise
we'd have got soaked

I peered out
the sky
was a dull grey
lightening threatened
and thunder

I felt the cold
as I huddled
into my jacket
and shirt
and blue jeans

have to stay here
until it stops
I said

she put her hands
into the pockets
of the green raincoat
she was wearing
her brown hair
pinned back
with hair grips
was damp

suppose so
but it could be ages
and my mum'll worry
if I’m too late
Ingrid said

I peered at the sky

hopefully won't be
too long

I looked at her
standing next to me

we  could always
start a fire
if we get too cold
I said
I''ve got matches
and there's
an old newspaper
over there
and bits
of old wood
from the bomb site
and coal over there

she didn't look
impressed

we can wait
and see
she said

I've lit fires
before here
I said

she looked
at me doubtfully

over there
in the corner
a fair size one

she looked
at the corner
how did you
put it out after?
she asked

I peed on it
I said

she gazed at me
her mouth open
her mildly
buck teeth smiling
at me

what if someone
saw you?

no one can see
from here
not under
this bridge
apart from tramps
or hobos
who hide here
sometimes at night
but it was daytime then
I said

she stared out
at the rain

sometimes Benedict
you are not good
to know
she muttered

I smiled
gazed at the sky

two 8 year olds
hiding
from the rain
and I said
I wonder why?

Makemkov had a sudden
Thought while sitting on his bed,
Having a smoke, gazing out
Of the window at the new

Apartments across the way,
Where some young dame was slipping
Into something light and cool,
Unknowing that he gazed like this

On other days, the thought he
Had disturbed the **** sight,
The image becoming blurred
Into another lustful

Smudge, he was going to be
Dead one day, the thought revealed,
Unclean or not so, he did
Not know, but die he would, he

Neither grand nor good, his death
Would come as all deaths came, each
With its owner’s borrowed name.

I didn't know,
the first time,
you were dying;
thought it
something else
causing you ill;
if I’d known
I’d have stayed
there still.  

What was dying like
the first time around?
We were there
the second time,
holding your hands,
egging you to stay,
but you were
taken away.

I miss your coming
and going;
your humour
and Mutley laugh;
your soft spoken voice,
your bright eyed stare.

I didn't know,
that first time,
you were dying;
we spoke of
mundane matters;
no great speeches
as history dictates,
as the famous do.

Just us talking
the small things through;
you hard of breath,
puffed up,
unknown to us,
nearing to death.

I see Jane
on the bus
Saturday

shopping day
with her mum
at the front

I take in
her dark hair
long and loose

her summer
flowered dress
how she moves

with the bus
side to side
I wish that

I was there
beside her
our bodies

touching each
arm to arm
but she is

at the front
and I am
at the back

with others
mentally
I begin

from my palm
to blow her
a hot kiss

hoping she
will get it
on her neck

or cheek and
it not miss.

Laying down
on her bed
Elaine thinks

of her day
while at school
other kids

the things spoke
not in jest
or in joke

boys and girls
hey Frumpy
been kissed yet?

who'd kiss you?
their laughter
or silence

just staring
the ceiling
is off white

in her room
curtains drawn
a spider

big and black
lingers there
by the rail

she wants John
to kiss her
once again

but then not
she's confused
feelings mixed

part wanting
the kissing
but part not

other girls
talk of boys
how ****

and how hot
she's silent
feeling not.

Sleep on Yehudit,
yet before you go,
before you close
your bright blue eyes

to us all, tell me this:
do you remember
that first kiss?
That silver coin moon,

that boot black sky
of late evening?
Sleep,
my first lover,

but before you go,
before you rest
the deep rest,
tell me,

which day did you
love the best?
I recalled
and loved them all.

I remember...
do you love me?
You would ask.
Did not expect

your dying of big C...
Sleep the big sleep,
my Yehudit,  
rest your blue eyes,

give a final smile,
but before you do,
tell me softly,
did you really love me?

No matter
how much
I open
my arms wide;
you're not inside.

I cannot hold
you again,
cannot feel
the hold of you,
no matter
what I imagine
or believe, or do.

Cannot weigh
the sadness
or explain
how I grieve.

I think on
the you,
the you
that used to be,
the younger,
older, son,
child, man,
you,
I cannot see.

It's all there
in her head
the words said

while at school
in the class
whispered so

just near her
and outside
other girls

say things loud
how's the ***
frumpy girl?

she lies back
on her bed
while at home

some Elvis
song next door
her sister

playing loud
on the old
gramophone

if only
John would kiss
her again

but this time
to tell her
and softer

on the lips
she blushes
she senses

the redness
in her face
her body

responding
she hates school
hates lessons

all too hard
to take in
how's the ***?

what is it?
this *** stuff?
would John know?

the window
the sun's soft
warming glow.

Miss T said
you appeared to her
a number of times
smiling, and says
the impression is
that you're ok.

I am pleased by that,
thinking you're all right now,
safe and sound
in that other sphere;
I am relieved
you are ok,
but sad
that you're not here.

But the journey's done,
and you are there
happy and at peace,
and I am here
moved, but
still allow
the secret tear.

Enid holds
the wee in
focusing

nothing else
not Miss A
in the class

history
being taught
about kings

or their queens
matters now
just the need

right now to
urinate
her eyes strain

to focus
on the floor
on a foot

someone's shoe
a chair leg
on Miss A

standing there
by the board
but Enid

wants to go
to the door
but too late

small wet patch
on the floor.

Jane's kisses
were not then
******,

but they were
sensual,
in that they

woke up those
senses that
had before

been dormant.
Outside school
after that

school bus ride
to our homes,
and others

had gone their
separate
ways apart,

she remained
hesitant,
her being

on the edge
of some vast
awakening

within her.
Can we walk?
She asked me.

If you like.
The school bus
had gone off,

the others
not in sight.
We walked down

the side lane,
grassy banks
on both sides.

There is talk
at our school
of a girl

in my class
who's pregnant.
What girl's that?

I asked her,
having a
vague idea

what it meant.
Jane drank in
each aspect

of nature
about us:
butterflies,

wild flowers,
the song birds,
the bird's nests.

Can't say names,
Jane replied,
mustn't judge,

Daddy said.
Her father
was parson

of our small
dull village.
She's our age?

Yes, Jane said:
just 13.
Her black hair

had two grips
either side:
neat, precise.

Her school skirt
was dull grey,
with white blouse.

What happened?
I then asked
not knowing

the process
of those things.
I don't know,

Jane replied.
She didn't,
because she

never lied.
She stopped still
and looked down

at the stream.
I stopped, too.
Those flowers

give the scene
completeness,
Jane then said.

God given,
not man made.
She knelt down,

I knelt, too.
She fingered
the flower,

brushed along
fine petals,
dipped fingers

in the stream.
Whose baby?
I asked her.

She pulled at
the skirt's hem
to her knees,

brushed fingers
which were damp,
on skirt’s cloth.

We don’t know.
Some local
boy I guess.

She stood up;
so did I.
She looked up

at the sky:
birds in flight,
puffy clouds,

spread of blue.
What, I asked,
did they do?

Jane followed
with her eyes
across sky,

a swallow.
Love those birds,
their wing spread,

how they fly.
I studied
how she stood,

her dark eyes,
her back hair,
her pink lips.

We had kissed
and now there
I needed

to kiss her
lips again.
Not quite sure

what they did
Jane’s lips said.
Our eyes met.

Hazel and black.
More than kiss?
I asked her.

Yes, Jane said,
I expect.
She came close.

Her small *******
touched my chest.
We kissed shy,

then less so,
our lips moist,
our tongues touched,

senses stirred.
Our eyes closed.
Our lips met,

hands entwined.
Not pregnant?
I enquired.

No, she said,
more than this
required.

Where now,
Yiska-
where now

do you lay
your head?
That summer,

that green grass,
your head
in my lap,

the hair damp
from the sun's heat,
the eyes closed

against glare of sun.
Where now do you lie?
Yiska-

there once we lay,
summer's warmth,
blue skies,

your hand in mine,
my finger tracing
the curve

of your spine.
Whose arms now
embrace you?

Yiska,
who lips, now,
plant kisses

along your neck
and thigh?  
Which sun?

Which dull
or blue sky?

I look over
my shoulder

into the mirror
in the hall

and see
this old guy

staring at me
reminding me

of someone
I once knew.

It is spider time again.
Last night
as I was going

upstairs to bed
I saw the big spider
that had been spotted

by my son
but had escaped.
It was sitting

on my white coat
and so I opened
the front door quietly

and then
grabbed him
and gently

put him out
into the night air
alive and well

if a bit confused.

We cross a field
by the cottage
where I live
with my parents

the sun is warm
and the sky
a blue and white cloth
above our heads

it's Saturday
I have spent part
of the morning
up the farm

weighing milk
and cleaning out
cowsheds
Jane wants to show me

a small river
where there are fish
and now and then
unusual butterflies

can you fish there?
I ask
some do
but very few

she says
but it is good
to see them
swimming by

with their lovely colours
I look at her
as she relates the details
but I am not listening

so much to her words
as the music of her voice
and the brightness
of her dark eyes

her black hair
is drawn back
into a ponytail
and I am there

beside her
and I feel like
touching her hands
as she shows me

the size of the fish
but I don't just
sense her there
her being

the almost purity
of her
and butterflies float by
quite innocent

she says smiling
and now and then
if one is gentle
one can hold them

in the palms
of the hands
and just open up
enough to see

them there
opening and closing
their wings
like small bellows

I study her
her lips moving
the lips
opening and closing

like landed fish
and yet I had kissed
them before
but don't want

to just kiss
without her
knowing before hand
but how to ask

to kiss?
we cross about
three fields
I tell her

about my morning
at the farm
and the farm dog
a black mutt

who bit me
one morning
and show her
my scar on the arm

and she touches it
and her fingers
seem almost healing
and sends through

my whole body
an electric
buzzing feeling.