Filed under: childhood, happiness, home, love, memories, nature, strength | Tags: blossom, bread, gran, ironing, mary, mash, pie, pudding, sea, winter
Mary moo Mary
You were there
When the blossom
Came, Mary you
Were there when
The winter
Went, Mary you
Are here just like
A Gran.
Standing ironing
Sitting moaning,
Laughing, crying,
Listening to ‘Lipstick
On your collar,’
Telling tales from
The betting shop or
You and Marge’s
Latest trip to Wimpy,
Brian, Moreen
Leighton,
Patrick the Irish
Queer next door.
Have some more
Cream slice,
Bread pudding,
You’ll buy four for
For me, ‘Only a paahnd
Fifty’, to take home.
Or pie and mash for sister.
YOu? No, no you
Don’t eat like
You used to,
In the caravan,
Round, happy,
Just the sun and
Slot machines and
Walks along
The sea, girls
On leads, so’s
We dont ‘draaan’.
Please remember,
We thank you
And love you like a
Gran.
Grand old Mare
Filed under: growth, healing, love, nature, pain, regression, shame, strength | Tags: ache, apple, autumn, bell, doubt, girl, loss, love, muisty, poetry, romance, worm
1.
My name is girl
My age is when
I feel the day
My height is fringed
With misty things, the haze
That surrounds all,
Air , or something like it,
Electrical.
Part 2.
My fate is but a worm
Squirming in the sand
Beneath an apple on the
Beach.
My rubbery coil senses Autumn’s
Mellow fruit but feels
Only grit and cigarette ends,
Yellowed with spit
And the odd spat of sea.
Part 3.
My Date is a round
Can of something fizzy,
A man, who’ll pop
And bubble over
With sense and tunes
Told well, with confidence
Like some voluntary tramp.
Part 4.
My ache is a bell
Bent out of shape
Chord twanged by the wrong
Hand. Who’’s hand?
Who cares? Lets fix it,
If it’s copper it’ll meld well.
Part 5.
My tune is a song
Soldered on to the side
of my liver, an odd
Audience, granted,
But keen, it knows exactly
Where I’ve been and what
Deals Life’s dealt.
No, livers make grand audiences,
They’ll tell you whether or not
You were truly magnificent,
With their view from the stalls.
Filed under: hair, health, love, shame, thrill | Tags: forehead, hot, mis-placed
Pulsing frame cool against
My hot cheeks burning through
Finger cage of cupped hands.
Fringe spilling over hands held
High to keep out awkward offered affection.
Fringe gaping to expose the shame of
An exaggerated forehead.
With mis-placed hairs in mind
Hot cheeks singe and
The current is fused.
Now, Mascara’s tracks are blurred to bruises
And smiles flake the face,
Like butter too cold for bread.
Filed under: eating, food, happiness, healing, health, hope, love, thrill | Tags: pills, injections, repair, care, cool, relit
Happy day started at night for me,
Whether from pills or injections
Or Prunes and live yoghurt
Makes some difference,
But not too much.
Am I in control or merely
A passenger in a rusty car
Fuelled by pharmaceutic diesel
And in need of repair and care?
Bathe me in water and leave me
To dry in the sun.
Take me in before I fry but
keep me somewhere cool and clear
Where static glare is fenced
Out and love relit.
