In the hum, alert and tired,
A mind swims. Morrison
Sha-la-las from tinny old
Pub speakers. Heavy-ringed
Hands rest on scratched leather arms.
Crumbs nestle into cracks in age-
Faded upholstery. Once
Proud Patterns, too tired to try,
Sag and fray under the long
Weight of time. And in the low
Buzz, wired and slow, a mind swims.
In the haze:
Watching the turquoise waves,
Dreaming of slower ways
To be.
In the haze:
Found my way from the maze,
Traded the London craze
For sea.
On the stones:
Glistening ocean bones,
Laughter and ice cream cones
For me.
On the stones:
No need for mobile phones,
Far from to-do-list drones,
I’m free.
In the breeze:
Brushing my sandy knees,
I do just as I please.
Easy.
In the sun:
Finding the small things fun,
Feel life has just begun.
You see?
Scuffed and tightly-filled, keeling
Over, heels propped up to support
Bags on knees, screens, tapping fingers
Nails bitten to white jagged cliffs
Or long and smooth: rendered strange
And cold by time and money.
Sandals play glass slippers: cracked,
Betrayed by earthy brown between
Caked, painted gold. And, in thick air, the
Hiss and click of headphones plays a
Nuanced soundtrack like an itch.
Urban heat: dark rounded veins shout
Angry calls and foreheads weep.
Holding sticky rails, old friends have
Happy rows and, with sweet noise, earn
Bitter gazes from the tired. Foot
Squeezed rucksacks, grin like thirsty
Dogs and jostle handbags: over-friendly.
Rocking to and fro, stumbling,
Graceless in our work-creased day clothes,
We are held together: jumbled
Bits and pieces in old drawers. But,
Like keys and crayons muddled:
Each, when found, will open doors.
Out of nowhere, magic phrases
Whisper stardust in my ears
And the days of growth and study
Flood my mind despite the years:
Books, that long ago forgot to
Hold their pages close together,
Still possess that spit of youthful
Fire that casts a spell forever.
Watering can, little shoes,
April sun, baby blues,
Wet socks, soggy flowers,
Tired eyes, long hours.
Chubby cheeks, half-formed words,
Drone of cars, songs of birds,
Deepest love, smothered rage,
Silent protest, mother’s cage,
Eager eyes, sticky hugs,
New to nature, eating bugs,
Scraped knees, mummy kiss it,
‘When it’s gone,’ they say, ‘you’ll miss it.’
In fresh air, short of breath,
Should he nap? What if: cot death?
Filled nappy, teatime tears,
Guilt, resentment, shameful fears.
Fences, hedges, walls divide
So many of us trapped inside,
Feeling we are not enough,
Scared to say we find it tough.
I find it hard. How do you find it?
Do you ever wish you could unwind it?
Do you cry on cold baked beans
And plug your babies into screens?
Join the club. Come and share.
There’s others like us everywhere.
When we hide our fear and pain,
Depression smugly smiles again.
To burst through the blank:
It’s harder now.
Quick full days that laugh
At slower life
And suck the spark,
In thrall to life’s quick call.
To find the thought space:
Long moment where
Noise fades and my eyes,
To finger point,
Find their click in
Dream haze of writing ways.
On hot London tube,
With resting heads,
And all the world in
Smells of spice, dry
Smoke, leather and
Old flat seats. My mind, at
Last, can nestle in.
It’s sweeter now:
For long empty wait.
I write the old
Inkwell of tears
And heart spring joy of art.
Long lost and prodigal, you return.
But like the spoiled cat
Refused the fish,
We turn our backs,
Pride wounded
By your long withheld warmth.
Now your caress is quick to
Melt our bitter hearts
And head-to-heel when we
Are heated through,
Satisfied and tingling,
We relax our limbs.
But not for long, for spring
Has lit a fire in our soles
And suddenly,
Invited to life’s dance,
We lift our skirts
And gamble in the fields.
Kiss of heat
Heart swell
Whisper of
Long days
Tending earth
Birds sing
Butterfly
Wing beat
Colour back
Feet skip
Coats come off
Knees breeze
Winter weight
Leaves me
Dancing in
Sun beams
ThinkingInk 