A Long Way Down

The weight of water

deep water

ghosts

surfacing

after you'd gone

That face

little face

closer

coming back to me

answering back

Poem for my son

By your bedside
A small wooden bird
Guards your soul
While you sleep
Breathing life
Keeping you safe
My shadow-soul.

In your dreams
If your soul is lost
He brings it back
And takes care of you
Until the light of dawn
Signals a new day
And sets you free.

Tour de France Prologue

Rotterdam rain
Road damp and greasy
Slippery city streets
Cavalier descent
Gravel and debris
Surface sketchy
Narrow twisty section
Blind bend
Off-camber
And tightening
Broad sweeping curve
Spinning back wheel
Losing traction
Slammed into barriers
Slipped out from bike
Over painted lines
Badly cut lip
Broken right thumb
Torn muscle in left thigh
Blood on the tarmac

Bruised

Tissue crushed
And not connecting
Vessels ruptured
Yet skin unbroken
Trapped blood
No place to go
Tender to touch
Red and purple,
Blue and black,
Green then yellow
Now light brown
Fading away
Like you.
You gave me
All the colours
Of the rainbow.

Blank Tape

The instruction was
“Erase me from your life”
But should I delete you
Or send you to the recycle bin?
Perhaps in the old days of VHS
You could record over things
With something new that’s
More fun and better quality.
But what we all know is
The reused video will wear thin,
Parts of the old film will show through,
And it will probably get stuck
With long tangled spaghetti loops
That ruin the mechanism,
And eventually something will snap.
I need to find me a blank tape.

Prisoner of Azkaban

You whispered in my ear
“Is that Sirius Black?”
“No” I replied, “that’s not him”
“Who is it then? “
“That’s Professor Lupin”

But you insisted
“Is he Sirius Black?”
“No that’s the bus driver”
“When’s Sirius Black coming on? “
“I don’t know, wait and see”

“Is that Sirius Black?
“No, that’s Dumbledore”
(I mumbled back)
“I want to see Sirius Black”
“Yes I know”

“I like Sirius Black”
“Wait who’s that?”
“That’s Snape.
I think he’ll be on soon”
“So WHERE is Sirius Black?”

Then we get to see him
(Sirius Black at last)
“Is THAT Sirius Black?”
“Yes that’s him”
“Oh no - he scares me”

The boy in year 12

You came to see me
And didn’t look up
You stared at the floor
Found a fascination
With your shoelaces.

You asked could I help
You’re not good at writing
Never have been
Have it in your head
Can’t get it onto paper.

I tried to listen
And help in some way
Like pieces of a puzzle
Each day little by little
The words started to flow.

You told me about your brother
No one mentions it at home
You sit in your room
On the Playstation
Can’t seem to concentrate.

I just saw you in the corridor
You shrugged a small glance
I heard you’re leaving soon
But I will hold on hope
That you can make it out there.

facebook

Log in, status update
Time to put on my smiley face
I have 500 friends or so
(And some of them I even know)

I poke, I post, I chat with folks
They think I’m happy (almost)
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be
(As they say - the sun always shines on TV)

So how do I tell them just how I feel?
I’m connecting with people but it’s not real
How do I say ... “My life’s undone,
And I often don’t talk to anyone”.

I feed my sheep and cows in Farmville
And order myself some happy pills
I promise a friend we’ll meet up soon,
But I haven’t seen her since last June.

I “like” your photos, I “like” your link
I like anything that means I don’t have to think
I’ve no direction at all, no guiding light
Just the mouse, the screen and me tonight.

The Dark Side

You looked me in the eye
And said “I don’t do sci-fi”
Why can’t you understand
It’s not about Lego or 3D or boxsets

But courage, understanding and love
And how being selfish
Can lead to evil, anger and pain
Shall I explain it again?

I don’t expect you to get it
But I want you to get me
By showing you the meaning
You will know my depth of feeling

You see an obsession
A man/child regression
But without it I’m lost in space
With no North Star to guide me.

(Written for the One Stop Poetry Sunday Darth Vader Challenge)

Poem for Julie

She asked nothing of me
But I owe the world to her
Now I’m left without my friend
I don’t know which way to turn
My right brain has flooded my left
I can feel it all through my skin
It’s a feeling of lightness and weight
It has really begun to dig in
My body shakes with a life of its own
I hold back the tears at the smallest thing
I don’t understand anything anymore
I just want to scream out
It’s not fair.

Poem by Libby written in 1995. Julie and I used to work together in London and she died of a rare form of cancer at the age of 37. Writing this poem somehow helped.

The girl in year 10

Eyes darting side to side
Sending laser beams
Foot always in mouth
She lashes out like
A wounded fox
Caught in a trap
Spitting blood

Tough exterior
Radiating out
From a curtain of hair
Behind thick lashes
Caked in mascara
She cannot face life
Any other way

Teachers judge her
Fear confrontation
Send her to isolation
Boys just see danger
An aggressive tone
They leave well alone
She’s a threat

She gives a shy smile
And a look that says
She’s really a scaredy cat
But if anyone gets close
She’ll run away
One step forward
Equals two steps back

Friday Morning

Venturing outside
Frosty reception awaits
A nip in the air

My feet feel their way
Crystal snowflakes tumble down
My eyes gaze skywards

The windscreen wipers
Make the shape of angel wings
On the frozen glass

With hope I peer out
Through a small hole in the ice
In perishing cold

Before the white snow
Is tarnished and turns to slush
I take a deep breath

The red orange glow
Of a tequila sunrise
Will show me the way

Lost

You put my postcode
Into your Sat Nav
So you can find me.

But how we get
From where we are now
To where we want to be
Is a mystery.

The Dream

Through closed doors and iron gates
Dead bolts, padlocks, rim locks
Between steel bars, no guards
I twist round stairs and tight corners
Into the blue light, the half light
No one around, I’m outside now.

Sun streaming through white clouds
Bumping along the skyline
Along pylons and hissing wires
The rhythm scares and frees me
Trees go by flashing like fire
Now orange light, street lights.

Racing along the night highway
Down straight yellow lines
Cats eyes staring up at me
The world flows by at a pace
Time swiftly moving on
But there’s something in the road.

A group of deer leap out in front
Their majestic faces
Proudly flaring nostrils
Dark eyes, ears pricked and alert
They sense me but pay no mind
I speed ahead on my silent journey.

I’m on a mission, floating above life
This is how freedom should feel.
A blink, a jolt and I’m back again
I feel you breathing on my shoulder
Imprisoning me once more
Haunting my reality.


(Inspired by the dream sequence from the film “Un Prophète” by Jacques Audiard)

Mischief Night

Growing up
We waited for tonight
Minor misdemeanours
Knock and run
Tying door handles
When asked why
We said it was a laugh
One night of the year
Licence to misbehave
To break every rule.

And this year it seems
The old me is back
Pushing back boundaries
Looking for trouble
For when I am told
Not to do something
I think of little else
I know you do too
You believe you can stop it
But I’d like to see you try.

(Traditionally Mischief Night is 4th November in Yorkshire)

Projections

The door opens into your world
A dark and private place
Whirring noises
Small square window
Reflecting light
I stumble over words.

I want to see your scar
Tentatively you show me
Our heads bent together
In quiet contemplation
I touch the place the knife went in
It feels awkward yet close.

Then the first reel clicks
The audience demands
You attend to the machines
I take a step backwards
I stand there beside you
Watching your hands.

The Text

First a short text
Quickly followed by another
Then a text with an X
What does it mean?

Girlfriends say it’s just
“Bye” to a friend
We all do it
No need to get excited.

But the men say different
The X is significant
It means something else
It wants an X back.

So I send one.

The Opposite House

There’s been a death in the opposite house
Family members have taken time
To rip out all the furniture
And throw it in a skip.

Maud was the little old lady
We hardly knew her at all.
Now what represented her life on earth
Is piled outside her front door.

Anything valuable they decide to keep
Or maybe Oxfam can pick through it
I see the look of relief all around
As they make one final trip to the tip.

The Walkers

I just jumped up from my desk
As I heard a strange clacking sound
Seemed like heavy rain drops
But it was the walkers going past
Click, click, tap, tap, click
Their poles hit the street.

Every Wednesday we see them
As they stride out together
Five female friends
On a weekly adventure
They never miss
They think of it all the time.

The poles give them strength
Their walk unites them in rhythm
Their longed-for escape
From the noise and nonsense of their lives
I hear their faint chattering now
As they disappear from my view.