Friday, 25 December 2009

Hampstead Heath was lovely in the snow

~~Sum's profile pic~~

Somehow we faded
like the blooms of the bunch you bought me
the day you told me it was over
and i felt something drain
from me - maybe colour, maybe hope
and my disbelief was a feeble wash
of grey

as their colours
drowned, dripped, dropped
from blossoms to mulch
i drooped

catching every ray
as it passed through their vase
sucking light and life
desaturation to a severe degree

head bowed
you tilted, wilted
trudged your way to the door

in a moment of reanimation
i rediscovered my true colours
took up that vase
and aimed

your exit became explosive
befitting, that crowning glory

'smashing', they all agreed

Thursday, 10 December 2009

What would I know

I need to take a little lie-down
a bit of a time out, just a few decades or so
to realign, re-assess, rejuvenate and return to myself;
a while for the world to catch-up
with itself, a pause from its eternal spinning into infinity
and for me to adjust to my own insignificance within the universe.

It’s probable it’ll take a little longer,
centuries, perhaps even millennia
to even come close to beginning to understand
to get even iota of an inkling
of what it all means,
and who I suppose I am supposed to be.

The why of it all does not even bear considering;
this world will have frozen over,
or maybe heated to cinders and beyond ash
a thousand times over
before any mere human could even come
within harpooning distance of that particular truth.

And if by some crazy miracle,
some spectacular flaw in the passing of the seasons,
the turning of the tides, and the order of the constellation.
any mortal should stumble onto a glimmer of this conundrum,
the ferocity of the light of such immense knowledge,
it would be beyond unbearable.

A mind torn wide open
by the enormity of it all,
oblivion would become the new quest,
clawing at the vault of prior ignorance
wishing for a return to an utterly irretrievable innocence.

Thursday, 3 December 2009

Old letters and other stuff under the bed

Some days
I like to try and defy time
attempt to throw a spanner in the works
or even tinker enough to turn it back,
even if only a little

Slip on that green jumper -
you know, the one she knitted me
with the crazy bobbles, and monkey-long sleeves
struggling valiantly in the cupboard against feasting moths
and out of it, on, hanging down to my knees.

Make hot cordial in a mug so big
I need two hands to hold it
and it covers my nose
as I drink.

Wear giant woolen socks that pick up the fluff
and sit back on the sofa
watching Sam be baffled at every new leap
or Fox telling Dana why she really should believe
or maybe just dancing round the living room
to Stevie and Michael and Lionel and Bob.