Friday, 16 August 2019

Two Poems





X MARKS THE SPOT

This is where we say goodbye.
The long hospital corridor.
The nil-by-mouth.

This is where it ends.
The airport, doorstep, doctor’s waiting room,
the recruitment interview;
the passing out parade.

Going, going, gone, the clocks repeat,
already imagining a distance.

This is where
something stays shut inside.
This is where.





My Father Says

My father says
that one day soon
he will go for the long sleep.
He’s eighty four, he can’t go forever,
and he gets tired of it all he says;
all the visits to doctors
and his teeth dropping out.

My father says his leg aches
where he fell downstairs and tore the ligament,
after a party at the local pub,
when he played his concertina.

My father says the world isn’t what it was in his day
It’s spoiled, we’ve buggered it up
beyond repair.

My father says 
we’ll be better off without him,
when he is pushing up daisies.

Then he dons his panama and goes out
into the garden to plant new flowers
where the rabbits have eaten them away,
mow the two acre lawn and write
a letter to his friend
about the history of the tango.

My father says that one day soon
he will go for the long sleep,
but not today, and not tomorrow
while there are things to do,
but maybe the day after
or the day after that.






I'm delighted that these poems have found an audience! Thank you, Poetry Kit.

















Friday, 5 July 2019

The King of Neverwas a poem for our time. (Never mind BREXIT)


The King of Neverwas    
was very good at subterfuge
and prestidigitation.
He plucked out Hope and flourished it
and showed it to the nation,
and then he flew it like a kite
as his very own invention.

                  'Ooh' and 'Ah!' the people cried
                   as Hope began to fly.
'Now you see it, now you don't.'
said the King, as he passed by.
But Hope the kite grew pale and thin
and dropped down from the sky.

For his next trick he captured Truth.
He grappled it and it fought back.
He got it cornered in a box,
so it could not attack.
                   He locked and barred and bolted it.
                   'Let's see you get out of that!' 

'That's not right!' shouted the crowd,
'Truth cannot be confined!'
So he tamed the Truth with soft-boiled eggs
                   and butter on the side.
                   Truth became unrecognisable,
and everyone wanted a ride.

But it became too fat to walk,
                   though he took it out to the Park
on Sundays, on a silver chain;
people paid to hear it bark.
But they couldn't tell if it was Truth
or the chatter of lies in the dark.

                   The Hocus Pocus didn't work.
                   The people all turned away
and the King of Neverwas went off
to find a new game to play
and truth and hope have lost their place
and oh! we rue the day.