a small selection of poems & prose
from "life urges"
a work in progress
life is just a dream,
a chase, a race
to the end of our time.
a knowing, if you're lucky,
of the fullness of ability,
of songs not left unsung
and battles fought and won
it hit like a bomb
face crumbling, desire to see home
he talked pure nonsense as his mind fought
to assert domain over the carnage of his feelings
his friend, his sibling, his younger rival
had gone over the edge into the next world
not with a shout or a scream,
but quietly, faintly, in his dreams
now marked for life,
unknown, by the absence of his friend
life goes smoothly until the gate of his emotions
is reached, triggered by a small event
a nothing in the scheme of things,
but a cataclysm in his mind, the truth vents,
a torrent of reaction, calamitous to the family,
as he hits out at the innocent
the warmth of your thigh
touches me in ways I can't resist
settling in sleep, you radiate poised,
helplessness personified.
pressing against me,
I smell your skin, perfume sweet
flowers, chanel to my mind driven,
that careless touch given.
the touch is innocent
care hitting home, responding,
feeling as I do, it seems totally right
that I comfort sweet you
two fists to the wind
tearing holes in the flow
in the continuum of time.
the sense, the grief, the loss
of speech, of coherent thought,
of sanity rampant, chased and sought
the violence apparent
people shrivel and shrink
from his line of sight, afraid,
lest he thinks, with a hungry grin,
that here is fresh meat, prey again,
for the sickness invading, eating him
invasion of his core,
attacking the main store
of sane and conscious sense
which, most of us take for granted
all turn quickly from him, the animus,
and sanity rips, tears as if by design
he jumps around ape-like,
his faith, like his life,
and his frenzied grin
based upon the colour of his skin.
his face twisted as his faith,
kills me with indecision,
to ignore the fascist,
or split his skull and split the schism
If I tear his head off, upend him,
will I pour out his hate,
like water from the pot,
but wasted on the sterility of his state
the flag of their unity repeats
like endless unvaried tattoos,
on work-shy, gym-hardened arms
filling me with dread at the thought
(they might prevail)
she lay in bed stretched,
like a lion in the sun,
turned and touched, curled,
lighting my thoughts, the one?
smiling, deep eyes opened,
closed, again safe,
having seen my face there,
not fully knowing me, but sure
wind in her hair,
dancing
sun on her face,
brightly
our eyes meet,
knowing
moment electric, crackling in the lobes,
across my vision the light explodes.
the touch ecstatic, tripping heartbeat
arouses passions and thunder, soft heat.
the smell of warm skin, teases, taunts
my imagination, lingers and haunts
as my senses heighten, and I stop to stare
acutely aware of each touch, each hair
on end, shaking, as the rest of me does,
to musk and fire, passion erupts
a hint of sunlight glints from your eyes,
laughing,
letting down the cool indifference,
a masquerade which so attracts all around
scared it might show, but still letting go,
suddenly,
all changes as you remember that,
tasting freedom, some close by might judge
hurting inside, but not knowing why
you feel this,
you flake and dry your soul, consciously
slowing down your reaction of emotion to me
loving is not easy and never will be,
your beauty attracts me
but , having been sought and fought for,
your love, is still taken and given reluctantly
the moment, worth waiting an eternity,
is the break,
in your guard when you radiate,
georgeously, true you, the unwounded child
softly it breaks, slowly dawned
the awful truth, the way it sounds,
love to last centuries gone to ground
in an instant, the short-lived sound
of discordant people fighting to ensure
that their will endures,
over the other, most important person
the black ball of hate, lives at last
far longer than true love gone past,
expanding virally from its quiet ghost,
in short time the grace-like state
has gone, feeding purely on the mind
of egos intertwined,
becomes greater than the love of eons ago
void in the soul, black hole wrenched
from my completeness, comet-stretched,
sparkling, dazzling , at lightning speed,
stunning in ferocity,
realisation appears
in the reality that she doesn't truly care,
what I'm doing, whether now or next year
shell-shocked,
the family stand brave,
trying to lift their thoughts
above solemn and grave,
uncle, father, grandad and friend,
husband beloved to the very end
and beyond and forever,
this man will not lie forgotten,
in the constant march of time,
strange rite of passage,
a dismal dawn.
I stand, chief mourner,
new head of family
but still not a man...
yet beside me stands my mother,
his wife, his lover, his guiding light
in times of trouble....caring,
but not dare looking,
lest the dam break,
she strengthens,
fortifies all in her wake.
my daughter, my girl
bursting into tears,
her first exposure to the fears
that one day that box will be mine.
and her dad will be gone.
resilient youth, she giggles a little
at the Mr Happy hankie I give,
a small present from dad,
as, knowing him well,
he would not have her sad.
my partner, my lover
stands to the side,
vainly trying to foolishly hide
the horrible, devastating loss she feels,
of the good, decent, man
she knew for years
and called Victor, jokingly,
lovingly, named in jest,
knowing each other to be the best
for the others they love
a chink in the armour of my life appeared
when tears glittered in your eyes as I said goodbye,
knowing at times like these how empty my life is
when you are not in my orbit, nor I in yours
I am deplete and incomplete, lost in my lack
of you and your care, your love, your arms,
but when i am there i take for granted, you
presuming you shine only for me
the flat pigeon's wing
waved grotesquely in the wind
giving a gruesome hello and goodbye
to the cars and life that went speeding by
a summer's breath
the curtains moved in the yellow morning light,
your warm breath rustled the fine hair on my neck
I turned, responding, reaching to hold you tight
stopping,
I remember you are a country away
I awake slowly to the day
and the fact that I won't see
your smiling light for weeks,
knowing I will be in misery until then,
the feeling growing,
hearing your voice in every phone call,
seeing your face pass on each bus,
knowing I need you,
knowing I must
a terrible shock
freezing the soul
creating rubble
from the edifice
of your reality
day after day
convincing your self
shoring the walls
of the crumbling halls
of time, of life, of fear
in the pitch black room I hear Nanci Griffiths sing
"it's a hard life, a hard life" while I lie and almost weep
emotions waging war on me, cutting me from sleep,
it's been too much for me, this year,
a time of truth and consequence and fears
diving for cover, the soul laid bare,
the latest bomb-shell hits and shears
my tenuous grip on reality as it comes home
that my child, loved since she was born,
might be ill, it might be bad,
something life-long and caustic, and I, her dad,
can't chase this dragon away,
can't return her to the golden days of carefree play.
she's growing up, I rationalise,
at the same time fear grows, this may be lies,
a parent whistling in the winds of fortune,
against the fates, lying in the dark, importunate
in the face of cold harsh truth.
Nanci Griffiths brings life back to me
strong voice bringing me back to reality
nothing, I think, can change what will be
we just have to try to survive it and see
the child on the tube
flexed back and forth
as his head lolled, gentled,
with impending sleep
his father, talking soft,
a gentle Spanish tongue,
vainly tried to wake him,
settled for using his hands
a warm pillow for the little boy's head
his other hand stroking his son's neck
sleep hit the child like a brick,
dad's hands probably felt like feathers
his older sister, on the other side,
smirked affectionately.