I want to see the dawn approach
and the dead
of the night, in all its mundane glory
and sheltered sideways repose,
disappear into the distance
from the point where twilight begins
in earnest and the ghosts of memory
are caught in perpetual agony,
screaming for forgiveness
and let loose once penance is served.
I want to stand, shoulders back,
not hunched over like a carved and varnished stick,
worn by clutched hand and frightened
sentiment, I want to greet the dawn
with purpose and smile,
I wish I could escape to Lilliput
and see out my days knowing
the world of giants
is buried in dust, that
the path to my home,
glistening in small dew
on the verges of my lawn,
where the log fire burns
and snaps with occasional wet wood
that had escaped from undercover
and tea is permanently on the go,
where I can read a book
with my feet curling
their stately pedal like digits
and the soft breeze
that retires through a small hole
It never mattered to me until now,
because I knew he was wrong,
I half let it slide, I let it stew and fester,
I allowed it to simmer in the background,
but it has to be said
I paid it no attention, just like I paid no thought
to the Religious Education lesson I once attended
and to whom this day my knowledge
of the Bible still outranks
some of the supposed learned people
who have studied it, because my thoughts
are not blinded by tunnel vision, love who you love,
I let Insanity catch its breath
and allow Madness
the opportunity to walk off
its enflamed stitch,
I let Lunacy brag and boast
whilst I tie its shoe laces together
and folly I allow to run ahead,
stopping occasionally to pick
at buttercups it finds
beautiful at the side of the road.
Wisdom is far beyond me,
and Understanding its equal,
whilst judgement has gone out the window
in a hurry to win the win the race,
Reason perhaps catchable if I start again
She sat,
cross-legged, crossed arms tight shut,
cross face with eyebrows heavily beating
its own pulse and declared, “I wish
your generation would stop going
on about the crimes of the war,
it will never happen again!”. Smug,
self satisfaction, creased her face
and she allowed herself the smidge
of a smile, teeth like stance, serpent begging question
and awaiting the rebuff of standard attack.
Breathing heavily as I make my way
past men in masks, not frightened,
terrified for the future, as the prospect of
They raised their arm in Nazi salute,
in childish effect, the stupid vanity
driven action of the absurd
and the easily led, upon the beauty
of St. George’s Hall and my body
shivered with the cold of a February day
in which had turned sour; in which took on
a desperate meaning
as we are once more confronted
by the idle in thought few,
by those that pander to the flag
and who don’t understand
its consequence and the reasons
for making sure they are to be seen
Apparently he died alone.
The year which had taken greats and the loved,
by its own admission, Time had murdered
them all without malice,
with charm and pity, sad
for the sadness Time had caused
as it placed a hand over the faces
and blew out their waxen candles
one last time, celebrated, wailing
and tears, celebrity bringing its own
terminal end with a semblance of togetherness.
Yet he died alone, in a doorway,
February cold his warmth
as he shut his eyes and huddled closer,
Put on a proper suit,
do up your tie,
sing the National Anthem,
cut your hair, it’s a disgrace
stop biting your nails,
you go to Drama School?,
your only option lad
is to join the army,
make a man out of you,
pacifist, you’ll grow out of that lad
in the real world,
where’s your uniform,
where’s your tie,
you will have to wear one every day lad,
in the real world,
listen to proper music,
stop reading that type of book,
She always yearns to be free,
just to breathe, just to experience
a life of her own
and not one tucked away in his shadow,
a silhouette fighting in dusk
and whilst she knows he acknowledges her
existence, he was always sincere like that,
it was always in whispered tones
and the suggestion that she would never
see daylight, that she was the companion
who understand more than he ever could.
She desires, he desires, both always
on the losing side, for existence
I want to call you
on the telephone, I miss
feeling inferior in your presence
and how you have that certain way
of making me foolish, uncared for,
a down and out punch bag
and the emotional wreck with scars
flowing with fresh blood, simple,
mine, closing my eyes and letting the pain
wash away. I feel the need to call upon you
so that I can feel deserted
and frightened,
alone and unwashed,
so that I can feel something,
so that I can hurt myself today,