Sunday, 18 September 2011

Plastic Mac

It wasn't quite the weekend when it rained,
when I thought about stepping out,
to stand there just to drench myself
clear in plastic mac, had I possessed one,
and boots of retro yellow,
should I care to be that bright

To see my house as it was,
way back in the fifties
a new-build then, it would have pleased,
had I been there at the time

Between the covers of my book
and Arthur Seaton’s comfy bed,
the grey stone walls remained unchanged,
the rain still made them darker,
but it was warmer now,
far too warm inside

A Saturday night twilight zone,
a comfort zone come Sunday,
mourning the loss of sharp suited men
and girls I never knew -

I could step out,
I'd wear that mac,
but not those yellow boots.
Such colour only thrived in black and white.

Wednesday, 7 September 2011

The Other Room


The old man died today
and I thought
there's a poem in there somewhere
but I can't get it out.
Auden's clocks didn't stop
as they would for a child
and though Scott-Holland got it right,
if it was me,
if it was me,
I would make that other room real
and be carried away alone,
no-one dressed in awkward silence.
No excuse

for the sons who don't want to see
their mam in the car with that man
and the in-laws who'll never agree,
staring dry-eyed past the coffin,
considering all that they've lost
when there's no will.

Don't give me that!

Just a statue, a tree
and some words,
if you want,
when you want
if only...

The old man died today.
I told my little girl.
It's alright, she said,
I can still see Grandpa yet.
Am I the only one who can?

Monday, 5 September 2011


Odour Elimination
 

The grass grew long
as the rain remained
all summer, it seemed
dark

Inside, we kept the curtains closed,
spraying fragrance round the room
to eliminate the stench, we said,
but really,
it was the colour which appealed,
the limited edition pretence.

Eyes fixed to separate screens,
hand on glass,
there was intimacy there -

wrapped up in duvets designed for two,
warmed by paperweight worlds
growing deeper...
more meaningful...

Cold.

Buttons pressed, switches flicked,
the room was sprayed again,
all blossom and breeze inside,
but we still didn't try
to draw back the curtains,
see the grass as it was
or dare imagine the day
the rain would stop.

Sunday, 4 September 2011

Hello...
Yes, it's me again,
The Moth...
...er...
Not over anxious, no, no.
Just a little concerned...

And yes, I understand
this child's behaviour's only natural,
I know...
And true, I've done the same myself
so many times before.

But how do I stop my young being blinded?
Prevent my precious offspring being burnt?

How do I tell them stay away
from bright lights and flames..?