Zero Twenty Forty.
There is the crease
I’m standing in the fold of it
Like a baby laughing in the laundry
Look at all the years
Refractions in space-time
Star specks of me bouncing against the walls
Who. Are. You. Am. I. Now
I am waving,
Shining skin, no folds or creases
I am wondering about now
What’s going to happen.
I crawl right back to zero
I am young enough
The fibre in my legs matches intent
Then I whoop down the slope of youth
First lock of hair, first steps, first words, first kiss
Plummet into the soda stream of passion
From which I still suck
More deliberately than before
Not toothless yet
Not imbibing life force through a straw.
Forty is a high wall to leg it up
I don’t know if I can be bothered.
Oh go on then.
Sitting up here, feet dangling
Looking back down at my soft skin
Twenty, still wondering.
I know what happened now
I could fold up the letter of my life and post it back.
Crystal and the Knife
Hold me to the light
I am cracked and glittering
I am the crystal and the knife
I am the blood and the indentation
The slice of life
Blown from the palm with birthday cake lips
I am the spinning
Of the dust and the blood
And the mud and the lust
Flat atoms beneath the sole’s tread
I am dripping, slipping
My sea is a red one, dead one
Jellied fish in salt tears
I am the guts pulled out still throbbing
The baby sleeping leaping with old sobs.
I am the poppy and the wide grassy field
I am the green blade
I am the scratch and the ladder
I am the dark stain and the shimmer
The reckless and relenting
If you do not reach me, reach for me
I will fall and clatter,
Splatter on the stone floor
Pour into the porous cold enduring
rock from the earth’s heart.
I will split, cleave.
I will burst, I will break, into
Tears, Laughter, Song.
(Could have cut the atmosphere)
Heart slivers in the broken glass.
Right, now, I must get the beds made, clear away the breakfast things, give the bathroom a good clean, put the washing out, what’s the weather like?
The sun on the grass, blades dipped in butter.
The flutter of a wing, a breath, of bright air.
Good drying then, I better get the clothes out before I head out to the playschool because by the time I nip to Tesco’s and then unload the shopping I won’t get another chance till after lunch. And then the baby will need feeding.
Curled around mine as he sups, tucked against my breast.
Small head, exquisite skin, we morph into each other
His/my fingers in his/my mouth.
Tug, tug tug.
Pulled in every direction, can I have a yoghurt, mUm I’m hungry, where ARE my socks then? you said you would play with me, is that a missed call? can you help me wipe my…he PUSHED me, eh, eh, eh, eh, wah, wah, wah!
Walking. Extra slowly.
First steps in soft felt shoes.
He is outside!
He cannot believe it, take it in.
He spends forever tracing with his finger
the fascination of a wall in pebble dash.
Dash, God is that the time, come on we better hurry, we have to pick up your brother, the baby’s in the buggy, you’ll have to walk, can’t you walk any faster, COME ON! now, now, what ARE you doing, panic stations, heart racing.
The day we met, you came up to me, you smiled
What a smile.
That whole day we spent in the park, chilling out, making out.
The moment we married, congratulations, kisses.
Kisses at bedtime, and baths and pyjamas and hot water bottles and stories and snuggles and last minutes snacks and oh I forgot to tell you, the clothes for the morning and lunches and can you put the bins out while I get the baby to settle and the kitchen to wipe clean, what else, now, right..
COLOURS (My first poem – age 8)
Yellow is for flowers and pretty buttercups
White is for snow, paper and cups
Blue is for the sky and sea
And pink is the colour of me
Red is for the sun, setting in the west
And red is for a rosette that shows that you’re the best!
If we thought that love was gone (1991)
If we thought that love was gone
that out of sweetness none remained
why should we catch the balmy air
its warm and laden music strained
upon a wise and falling light
the evening coming home to rest
the wide relentless sky still bright
like a heart stretched taut with car
then shall we find brim-comfort there
that what is now, not past is best
the full and glowing day now done
Why should we catch the balmy air
with glee and toss it through our hair
shout and stomp and shout again
that all we want to be is here?
And yet we grip rich beauty tight
must keep this fleeting joy so rare
within our touch, our taste, our sight
but scent and sound they drag us back
to scenes of sweet and haunting pain
and put us face to face with fear
that what is gone will ever lack
Shout and stomp and shout again
that what despairs cannot be heard
Feel the sun – a love’s embrace
the breeze becomes a tender word
that soothes the soul, the heart and mind
and summer’s wealth of promise stored
makes the falling evening kind
and musings touched with warmth erase
the tracks where restless hopes keep pace
Then loss and aching quiet ignored
both strength and beauty now remain.