And Let It Be Joy That Remembers Me

Let not the weight of my days be the tale,
nor the echoes of sorrow that time lets grow pale.
Not the moments I stumbled, nor those I stood tall,
but the laughter that lingers, the light through it all.

Let it be joy that remembers me,
like dawn spilling gold on an old, weary tree.
Like wind through the grass where the wild rivers run,
or the hush of the earth when it greets the sun.

Not carved into stone, nor whispered in woe,
but caught in the way that the fireflies glow.
A kindness retold in a story once shared,
a spark in the dark to remind you I cared.

So when all else fades as the years pass you through,
let it be joy that still sings in the blue.

FOLLOW THE LEADER

she is the creator
of worlds
she being 3

does not know how
a world
can be

a world
is only
how she makes it

daily she
creates it
in her own image

music is a thing
that dances
in the blood.

a butterfly is a miracle
she is just as yet
unaccustomed to

a flower
is a piece
of living magic

her dolls
speak to her
( in her own voice)

ten tulips
bow to her
she bows to them

a daddy is
a somebody
who knows nothing

who has to be
taught
everything.

she knows
there is nothing
that can not be

facts are replaced
by imagination
...the art of seeing

a purple sun
shines
in a yellow yellow world

see she has
drawn it so
and so it is so

and I her disciple
follow the little leader
as she teaches me

how to be
the world that she
can see

( half invention
  half discovery )
as she leads

me back to
the land
of childhood

I believed I had
long ago
lost forever

*

She was my teacher...making me in her own image...showing me how I could live in the world without dying into adulthood. I became as a little child and she gave me the gift of the world she created.

'I AM INFINITAS!"

here is
our wooden
O

it is
our zero
yellow

there is a 7
...but
it is missing

the puppy's
chewing
an orange 2

"Puppy...
. . .puppy
noooo!!!!"

the admonished
puppy
looks astonished

"This is a good
chew this orange 2."
it whimpers

she her self is four
and
...a little bit more

"When will I be
this one?"
"That's an eight!" I tell her

"It will take you four more years...
...of being you
to be it!"

The 8 has fallen
shhhh on its side asleep
...become an infinity

"Ahhh...infinitas!"
my little infant this
is what...you really are.

this unboundedness
of you
an infinity of you

forever after when
asked what age she is
she'd always answer

with a hearty laugh.
'I AM
INFINITAS!"

*

She had danced and sung and sung and danced. Now she was tired she retired to her favourite place...climbing up on my lap and treadling like a kitten she settled down to watch Kirk Douglas with me. Kirk was being Spartacus and everyone was claiming to be him at this juncture. She had heard the famous line as "I AM SPARK PLUGS!" and now rested from her exertions of watching and trying to make sense of a Hollywood movie...she ran around all over again dancing and singing: "I'M SPARK PLUGS...NO I'M SPAR K PLUGS!"

I used to teach her her letters and her numbers by means of a peashooter and wooden coloured alphabet and gaudy colourful numbers. Rather like Sir Thomas Moore teaching his daughters their letters by means of archery. The 8 lying down and having a rest and becoming an infinity symbol led to her next great statement which she always loved to proclaim as her little self identity..."I....AM...INFINITAS!"

My notes are filled with little snippets of thought a scribble of letters, genuine but unrefined it seems that when I feel passion I lack the motivation yet when I sit down with a glass of lemonade laptop in hand and cool breeze running through my hair my mind suddenly seems to lack a single coherent thought discouragement turns the pink sugar water to mud I question how I can declare poetry my love when I have not showered it with affection in months maybe I try too hard to turn pretty what's meant to be misshapen maybe each word doesn't have to flow like a steady stream divulging the meaning of this world or the secrets in my heart maybe it's alright if a poem feels more like treading over rocks than drifting to sleep on a giant fluffy cloud maybe this is enough

!YOU AGAIN!

Your summer dress
comes to rest

upon the balcony

hung up on a thin
wire hanger

(an exotic bird)        

it cries for your body
weeps at being

parted from you
& your curves

a pool of tears
collects at its hem

as longingly it dreams of
the touch of your skin

asleep now
in the sun.

Later that evening
frightened by the approaching storm

it tries to escape
the clamour of its hanger

almost flies off
beyond the reach of my hands

run away to sea
seeking for further horizons.

I calm it
tame its panic

fold it tenderly

carry it like a dreaming
child

lay it to rest
at the foot of the bed

where all night long it sleeps
at your feet

awaiting your footstep

the sunshine
of being

you
again.

Dancing on the tightrope of a breakdown
I wonder just how good my balance is,
I teeter on the wire one careful footstep at a time.
I don’t look down; the solid concrete waits for me below
I can’t look left or right for fear I’ll lean and tip.
I focus on the other side but it’s not clearly seen-
Is it my eyes or has a fog rolled in to trick me-
To leave me stranded and precarious.
I’m developing a cramp and one toe has gone numb
But still I slide the other foot along
And grip with every particle of strength I own.
I have to make it all the way across
There is no net below to save me.
But the other platform seems so far away
And my umbrella feels as though it’s made of lead.
Why is there no cheering from the crowd-
I guess they’re fascinated by the clowns down there
And never ever bothered to look up.
ljm

I burnt money
After escaping the valley
To scream at a fire
To scream at the flames

Down in the valley a few heard me
I was standing too far away
I heard the ones hearing me sighing
Clearly I heard them sighing

That was it
I screamed cause I wanted to listen
So I didn't hear anything
The fire was blazing fiercely

Flames were dancing up on me
I didn't sense the heat
I was taken in by my screaming
Screams occupied my spirit

Hmmh
Tired of screaming I fell asleep
In the valley mothers were singing
Orange lights glowing warmly

Chant whirred in the night
I slept deeply
The voices soaked into my body
That was good

The next morning I was cold
The fire had burnt to ashes
Wind carried the ash to the valley
The money was gone

I didn't want to scream anymore
I gave up screaming
A new day began in the valley
Mothers hauling children

There are seven wonders of the world
and I am sitting here
right here
right now
having dinner
with three of them