Returning from maternity leave #2

 Twice travelled road

of stolen selfishness and sleep

I'd forgotten you.

Broken bridges

shoddily and quickly repaired

with scant care and too little time.

The real world.

I'll have to pretend now.

I'll have to pretend to have an interest in anything other than you.

Haunted by News

 I wanted them off the dead bodies.

Away from the unburied

mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, children.

I wanted them dead.

And I wanted the killers of the dead

dead too.

Bright thing

 It lit up the room

and made my soul sing

but no one saw it but me.

I tasted the future,

And loved the rhythm of

a beat that used to be mine.

To hysterics in Childhood

 

You were neon pink

on a bright sunny day in the rain

You were the box telly we hit on and off, 

the one which chose which channel we'd watch 

or if colour was an option for the day.

Amidst you we heard the drunken rooks nesting in the trees behind the house,

locals telling stories and falling from their perches.

You were the elastic band I wore round the crown of my head when we climbed the windmill stairs.

As if I would take off and fly!

There I stood in my turquoise dungarees with a purple patch pocket,

clutching a Kimberley biscuit, grinning

like a puppy gone shany

or helium sucked up through a birthday balloon,

left speechless on the floor, delighted by it all and delighted by nothing,

but life.

Home

 The womb beyond the mother waits,

Glowing embers in hearth, warm milk simmering in a pan.

A shared space, as I shared in my own nine month turn, each with their nurturing, warmth, feeding and care. 

Time to be rather than do or be done,

Space to see more than to look or be seen 

A den of blankets, cushions, duvets, pillows, sheets, snugs, hugs, kisses and cuddles.

No rules, except the rules: kind hands, kind feet, kind words. 

To all equal. 

To all my heart.

 To all my everything. 

My hearth, my home.

Peace comes dropping slow

Peace comes dropping slow.
You know,
I wish it would?
With every sinew, and blood vessel,
heartbeat and breath,
with each vein, in each life giving tendril,
from my bones:
coccyx, sternum,
cavicle, humerus, radius, ulna,
carpals, metacarpals, tarsals, metatarsals, and phalanges.
From my pelvis, femur, patella, tibia and fibula.
From my soul.
Peace comes dropping slow,
I wish it would.
Let's work on it.

My father's father's face

The profile of the past etched out on thick drawing paper, delicately and gently, in 1962.

I never met him.
Yet I see him now, gently cast in a new and toddling face, frowning, exploring.
I don't know him yet.

He never met you.
Lyric, he might be; scholar he is; artist, we'll see; dancer, he tries; teacher, he will be; farmer, I hope for; bee keeper, we need; father and grandfather, we pray.
Your father's face, Da. 

The past casts the future after all.

Dandelion Clock

Tick, tock, dandelion clock,
the dawning of a brand new day.
Fingers clasped on hopeful stems,
the world entire gently carried
with fragile smiles.

Tick, tock, dandelion clock,
rushed, running, turn and say:
'I love you'.
We are released, encouraged,
and so proceeding on and on.

Tick, tock, dandelion clock,
another generation
learning and growing
under the regular sun and water
of the words and gestures we use for each other.

Tick, tock, dandelion clock,
One gentle gust, the world departing,
dearly beloved,
loving mother, father, husband, wife and friend.

In everything you said and did,
we learnt from you.
Tick, tock, dandelion clock. Stop.

Rock

Your rock
is secretly pumice stone,
gets all frightened when shes alone.
Afraid of the dark.
and dragons and monsters under the bed
even though she knows
they are only in her head.

Your rock
is petrified that she might shatter
but it doesn't matter.
A molten heart is pounding,  
reviving.
Mothers rise
eternal.

Bed

I sleep in snatches,
Sandwiched.
Peaceful forms on either side, 
pinned close to feel my skin.
Sometimes the cat also finds a niche of warmth.
I dare not move, my stillness and heartbeat the harbinger of peace.

I awake and am lonely in company.
My hip throbs and back pains.
I listen to gentle breathing, dreaming, heart beating.
I wish, long, ache to be where you are now.
Asleep, alone and in the company of dreams.

Out like a lion

You sprang out
like the lion of March,
and we snuggled you into a lamb.

As new leaves unfurled
so did you.
And you blossomed
like the long awaited spring.

November Birth

When all the leaves have turned to gold,
and laid a carpet at your feet;
when the wind finally turned cold,
you and I did meet.

Year turns year on year,
leaves fall and crown ground,
the wind whispers in my ear
your name, your birth, my becoming.

At sea, blue

Deep milk blue,

the innocence of you. 
Your eyes dependent,
loving, needing,
sleep depriving,
limpet clinging. 

Deep silk blue, 
the playfulness of you.
Your eyes sparkling,
laughing, asking,
security seeking, 
safely anchored to me.

Deep grey blue, 
the loving of you,
your eyes alone.
Desired, cherished.
Safeguarded. 
Mainstay, 
my heart tends to you.

Attend flashing green eyes.

Set your course home and live on these rocks with me. 
I'm at sea without you, 
blue. 

Truth

Wisdom to learn

Knowledge to reason

Judgement to listen

Courage to speak

Understanding to love

Reverence to worship

Wonder to live

Winter was coming

I didn't see the seasons,

I missed the glistening, powder puff snow
that lay on the cold, hard ground
only fading away at Easter.

Crashing thunder and a deluge
which soaked the fields,
quietened and dried without a second glance.
New green leaves unfurled alone. 

Then the sun beat down hot for months on end.
Summer clung on in warm strong winds.
Conkers fell all at once. 

All I saw was you.

Then I looked up and winter was coming.

TwentyPoemsYoung

I just want to keep a record of some poems which I draft every now and then, and collect them like stamps, so I can look again. They may become 'used' and 'redundant' - kindling for the fire, but perhaps, just one, might become a 'collectors item'. Even if the only one who collects it is me.