Visions of Greenbelt 1

A tall handsome man leans back a little,

but his tilted head reveals his keen attention. 

Short, she stands tall in the warmth of his regard. 

She finishes speaking. His head with shock of wild blond hair

rocks back at a shared joke. A glint of friendship

sparks and shuttles back and forth. 

She turns and walks off, purposeful, affirmed. 

He turns, returns to his bench enriched. 

Unrehearsed

Behind the musty curtain I scrabble for my script.

Rain drums its loose reggae beat on the tin roof 

and do I see a rat scuttling across to the costume store?

Muffled audience sounds seep through the tabs:

expectorant coughs, expectant whispers. 

Maya, panicking, asks my help - stage left or right?

'Left!' But all I really care about

is learning three scenes in three minutes. 

Roger urges me to break a leg, and I'm not sure

how serious he is. 

The curtain opens. 

'Hi!'

(The fruit of a poetry writing workshop at Greenbelt - set theme: recurring dreams. The Roger in the poem is not my brother, but a colleague who has directed me several times.)

Those Early Morning Blues

(Think of this as sung to the tune of Heartbreak Hotel, more or less.)

Woke up this morning, when the dog began to bark,
Don't wanna leave my duvet, don't wanna be up with the lark
I got those grey morning blues now, grey morning blues again.
Gotta let the dog out, else he just might leave his mark.

Went down and let the dog out, fell into a chair,
Don't ever wanna move now, don't wanna take the air
I got those grey morning blues now, grey morning blues again.
Now hound dog wants his water, won't stop snuffling till it's there.

Stumble to the kitchen, give the dog his bowl,
Look round for a teapot, to ease my aching soul
I got those grey morning blues now, grey morning blues again.
Gotta get a brew now, before my life goes down the hole.

There's Rooibos with Vanilla, there's Rooibos without,
There's Green tea and there's White tea, and pink and blue no doubt
I got those grey morning blues now, grey morning blues again.
But I just can't find no Tea tea, and it makes me wanna shout.

I got no time for Rooibos, with that or without this,
I never smile for Camomile, that tastes - well, not like bliss
I got those grey morning blues now, grey morning blues again.
For a proper builder's brew now, I'd even give that dog a kiss.

Psalm 0

To marauding magpies fighting their battles
with machine-gun squawks at first light
I say Yes.

To wasps defending their paper lanterns
with angry buzzes and piercing stings
I say Yes.

To thunder storms black with promise
turning dry earth to drowning mud
I say Yes

To Memory's daughters demanding their tithe
of dance and verse and story and science
I say Yes

To the old grey widow-maker with swelling tides
qui a bercé mon coeur pour la vie
I say Oui

To the soul-wrenched cry of a world in pain
for feeding and healing and justice and love
I say Yes

To saxophones, smart phones, eclairs and steaks
and Gherkins and Shards and portraits and flags
I say Yes

To seekers, believers, deniers and doubters
to those loved by millions, or loved by just one
I say Yes

To the straight and the gay, and the trad and the trans
and the whole rainbow spectrum, with pride
I say Yes

To the clever or not, the Bolt or the Snail,
the Diva, the Corncrake, the Star or the Grip
I say Yes