Scrabble poem

Galactic wax shrouded the scar.
Emes began to stir, parents too,
A zonked hen heard the thuds,
As the silvan vaulters flogged the prig.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Language fails

ii. Grief

When the heart breaks.
When the mind brushes off
Well-meant words like flies
On the skin.

When explanations seem to come
From another time and place,
Out of place, not worth the time.

When a kind touch may heal or harm,
Shared tears may burn or soothe,
But words are as good as sugar
In a drought.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Back to work

After a week of swallowing sandpaper,
Of hag-coughing myself breathless,
Of stubborn pain pounding each ear,
It's time to return.

This glimpse of frailty makes me hurry back
Though barely two thirds fit,
To prove some microscopic bug
A billionth of my size, can't lay me low
For ever.

But a handful of dust is all it takes
To put pride into perspective,
We walk upon a weakly hardened crust
Above the molten fires of leering doom.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Language fails

i. tantrum

When the child has grown enough
To know his mother's providence
Of food and warmth and comfort,
Has seen that needs are met, and cries
Receive response;

Then will times enough arise
That show the world's indifference
And lack of any fairness, and
That cries for natural justice
Meet impasse —

Then pressure builds that needs release,
But words are found to be in league
With human broken promises,
And wishful thoughts of fairer worlds, and
Language fails.

All's fair

All's fair, eh?
In love, war —
No more?
Not life, law?

But why so, eh?
What's fair
For one's not so
For all, is it?

So fair's not
Universal —
Because I love
Have I the right

To brook no
Reversal?
Perhaps we need
To question if

There's nothing
Fair in love
Or war or life
Or law at all.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Tinnitus

There is no such thing as silence.

On a good day, a gentle necklace
Of the tiniest silver beads
Sings in the back of the head, unobtrusive —
A light, unspiteful lullaby
Allowing the drift to sleep.

On a bad night the pressure builds
Through nape and ears and cranium,
Insistent alarm swelling, sinking,
Cascading minuscule ball bearings pressing
And piccolo whistles steadily rising.

An evening of coffee or red wine or both
Brings brasher, bullying, pulsing bells,
Still pitched past pitch of normal speech,
Seeming soft, but swelling with
An ocean's weight of shingled tides.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Presiding

The kudos of performance and
the hubris of admiration versus
the charis of service.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Dog

Expert at lounging, barking,
And getting under my feet.
Liberal with licks and dog hairs,
But jealously guarding snacks.
Panics when family members go out,
Goes frantic when foxes prowl.
A tailful of wags when tickled,
And soppy dark eyes always full of love.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Men's group

Not a women's group, so
more purposeful? No, but with
more limited purposes.
At least on the surface.
Learning, progressing,
resolving problems, grasping truths.
Deeper, unspoken, unminuted, the purpose that,
perhaps, the women's groups hold to
naturally, obviously, unproblematically -
that word so difficult for modern man,
that four-letter word that is
the true name of God.

One degree

Down the rabbit hole goes Ben Miller
And finds a wonderland where
Supercool dodgems warm each other up,
And glassblowers track the movement
Of ice.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Missing you

Because you're not here,
Because I was not there,
Because we were always here and there,
But when it mattered,
Never here and here.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Ashes

Strauss and partners waltz to victory,
Cook serves up a feast of runs.
But Clarke fails to give a good account,
And no reappointing Ponting.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Chill

When the wind decides not to strike
With knives of ice to the marrow,
But with casual subtlety —
Wrapping us round with chilly shawls —

When cold creeps up, and we carry on
Unaware at first, then shaking off
The first assault with a fretful shiver,
A sharp intake of breath,

Then little by sly little,
Rubbed arm by glum hugged arm,
Frown by furrowed frown,
We slip under her bleak, numb, cheerless spell.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Preparation

As usual, left as late as can be.
Done, dusted; as good as it usually gets,
but maybe only three parts as good
as it could be.
Like this poem.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Epiphany : Trinity

The source, the well-spring a life's trek away —
The fast running, sparkling, green brown streams —
The upraised smiling head bathing in fresh showers.

The last great prophet sees the first and last.
The voice of the ages names him son —
The dove descends, then flies its untracked course.

A private life; a public life and death
Years on from shepherds' songs and Magi's gaze.
World-shattering, world-healing ministry.

10.1.11

Paddy's little brother

Is Paddy's little brother jealous now?
Does he fear his younger, bigger brother's
Sleeker, quicker style? No one ever thought
Him small before, but by comparison…

Can he still do his job? Why not?
He's not changed, but the world has.
It's a buyer's world, and Paddy's little brother
Fears for the future.