poem

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It doesn’t have to be that complicated

Neatly, tidily tuck away the treasures
Fold and press out the creases
Polish those brass memories
as though they were gold

pick up the broken pieces
close the curtains, shut the doors
and turn the key in the rusty lock
trip down the fusty garden path

Move on to clear spaces
open roads and green fields
where soft breezes cleanse the air
to give an oxygen high

The cottage by the sea
barefoot on the sand
dancing in the dark, simple,
grow your own life

 

 

 

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When you go

I’ll go to the shore to scream
at the belligerent sea
and the hostile white horses will gallop and rear,
starting at that curious sound.

Or I’ll climb a grey mountain
and wail from the top of that mighty rock
which will tremble and threaten,
and cause distant crowds to run in fear.

Maybe I’ll crawl into the blackest cave
and the echoes of my howls
will wake the foul creatures there
and send them out to scare the innocents.

But most likely I’ll sob
soundless puddles into my pillow,
sending no ripples into the world,
alone and vexing no one.

by

A Hot Day in June

Its hard to settle on sultry days like this.
Too hot to sit in that high sun,
yet, afraid to sit in the shade
else we may miss the longed for treat.

Clothing sticks to our damp creamed skin,
and our out of shape straw hats,
dragged hastily from the back of the cupboard,
pattern our faces.

We freeze our drinks and lick them lustily,
or glug at cold beers holding the cans
to our cheeks
to better feel the chill.

The jealous bees slake their thirsts,
sipping delicately from the bath
while the birds are watchful
from the shade of the trees.

By late afternoon all is adroop.
The roses nod in appreciation
as the spray of the hose rescues them
from certain desiccation.

Saving water, the brittle lawn
doesn’t share that magic shower
for who knows how long this
spell will last?

 

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On the Quay at Fishguard

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We sat and stared at the sea
its distant calm expanse
as blue as the sky.
Closer, the kaleidoscope of grey patterns
hid its secret creatures,
as the seaweed danced
to natures rhythm.

Boats slid across the surface,
or, captured by a buoy,
swayed sadly in the wake.
Gulls gossiped and watched
as the crab man came
and unloaded his catch,
startled red within their cages.

Then the ferry loomed,
its bulk altering perspectives
as it steered imperiously to port.

 

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The Marathon

*For Corinne and James who completed the Bath Two Tunnels half-marathon last Saturday watched by a very proud mum and dad xx

I found a bench from which to watch
Sat licking ice cream til they came
The first lap they looked surprisingly
fresh, even the big ones,
those ones you wouldn’t take for runners
You could hear their breath though

So many it took half an hour for them all to pass
My ice cream gone I could clap and cheer now
awed by their fortitude
the digging in as they return for the second lap
Their faces contorted
grasping at the air with clenched teeth
Hair stuck to sweaty necks
Some resort to walking

The birds have flown
so all I can hear are the gasps
as they run back out to the distant marker
I wander back to the finish line
Its a nice day for a stroll
Sit on the grass in the sun
‘til the first ones find their final push
speed up when they see the sign
grin as they go over
then collapse
Exhausted, I need a drink.

 

 

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A little bit of Green

The diggers have come and destroyed the daffodils on the green,
creating a vast hole in my childhood.
The rocket ships that looked like swings,
the slide to the bottom of the big blue sea,
the café and the benches where mums sipped their tea,
all gone.

That tiny park of recreation, a slice of nature nestling
between the buildings.
Football on Saturdays, cricket on Sundays,
and marigolds on a dismal day.
The place of get togethers and breaking hearts,
all gone.

Replaced with those tick tack wall to wall houses.
Their mean gardens room enough only for a
trampoline and barbeque.
Maybe the laughter from the past will reverberate
through the lives of the families living there.
Those that have stolen my space.