Sounds Apt

One there was that danced upon the surface

Seeking honoured place to rest and let it be

Dedicated to communication

Prepared to work alone or company

To singular intention caught in heartbeat

Rhythm born intrinsic in its sound

Worked its way along the lines of empty

Espied its niche and settled right way round

Others clambered to be party to this

Festive wake where all sounds go to lie

Rejoicing in the mini death from random

Found a better place to conjure why

Purpose to existence in their being

Favoured by the one who may not know

Whether each and every grapheme chosen

Will do their job well, meaning to bestow

Rest ye well all phonics torn from alpha

Through omega, all that serve between

Many are there waiting, be not ill-used

Repose, post work, to know that you have been

Picked before all others still awaiting

Skill by some more gifted, all must wait

Practise while you work upon the forming

Perhaps some day may praise at well-placed state

 

Characters that haunt with saddest weeping

Shadows of the words they could have been

Spectred to ill-chosen, used and destined

To roam forever dwelling might have beens

Words evasive, parted soul from symbol

Vacant shells now cast adrift to face

The artifice of empty, this their fate flawed

Selected, misappropriated waste

In phrases, chosen chasms that despoil them

How can any cast thus find in name

Any sound or timbre worth their purpose

Poor letters, never stamped but sent the same

No one ever will recall their passing

Too many of their siblings chosen best

Selected by a wisdom quite elusive

While shallow markings never etched true worth.

Still the sounds browse up and down for tempo

Seeking yet their place upon the map

Desire for destination in their searching

Union with all others for sounds apt.

 

Dark Magnificence

Born of blackest blackness

Without a trace of light

No candle glow

No single flame

To pierce the lens of sight

When out of dark magnificence

Mighty bang ensued

Veiled pitch relieved

All light redeemed

Every hope imbued.

Blessed be dark magnificence

Malevolence was torn

Atomic thunder

Shafted curse

Sight, to us, was born.

 

Nearly Naked

Shimmied off

her overcoat,

discarded carelessly, 

Blind to loss,

much more to come, 

leisured surety,

Layers peeled off, 

distractedly,

dropped in sauntered song,

Waved to distance, 

selfishly, 

stepped she gaily on, 

Promenaded pointedly,

stripping

as she went,

Naked nearly, time waves back, 

wardrobe emptied,

clothes just lent.

Across Thresholds

There are words that we recall,

their promise fleeting,

veil, once lifted, vanished

as intent,

mercurial, they missed their capture,

meaning

lost in moments’ madness

though well-meant.

There are words we’ve never heard that speak

more truly,

caught in throats, in hearts,

that rarely vent,

carried in that meditation,

duly

transmitting more

than all sound ever spent.

There are times the nothing speaks

a thousand voices,

meanings pluralised,

sublimely sent,

demystified, these murmurs,

among noises,

drowning out, in muted,

letters lent.

There are words we sometimes wish

we’d never uttered,

some there are we wonder

why we heard,

as those that find their way,

in silence stuttered,

cross thresholds,

sublimating word for word.

Soon Mellow

Soon rest mid cups of yellow

gloss reflected on pale skin

emergent freckles smile return

while bees drone by with grin

a hazy sort of lazy,

side-ordered with content,

soon rest with me in meadows

where all summer days are spent.

Soon tickle chins with charming

belles, these buttercups,

simple yet disarming

lemon drops that raise me up

soon, so soon, the green grass,

with wild flowers blooming there,

will tremble friendly mellow cups

sun-dappled in breezed air.

Mayday

If I run away and hide will you find me

In deepest ocean’s trenches, without air,

Flotsam with forgotten, undiscovered,

Adrift with other lost souls dwelling there.

If I send an SOS, will you hear it,

Answer sonic plea to surface sent,

Will you, please, at least, alert another

Before exploding breath in lungs is spent.

If I hear no engine fast upon the waters,

If rescue seems a distant hope far gone,

If none there shall be up above to save me,

I’ll rest down here, learn somehow, to belong.

I’ll move among strange creatures as their shadow,

Learn their ways, survive as best I can,

Never fear if depths are not your forte

But, if you would, I’ll maid to your merman.

With denizens deep down we’ll both discover

World worth hiding in, as all was meant,

Come, my love, and find me in these waters,

If you do, no mayday need be sent.

Depends On Your Butter

Depends what you want, I suppose,

Doesn’t it,

Kids with a conscience

Or count,

Counting the pennies,

Own fortune,

Or cognisant of those

Doing without.

Depends where your

Bread has been buttered,

If jam was an option or not,

If pieces fae windaes was favoured

As three square or four with the drop.

Depends on so many factors,

Depends on memory, I guess,

Depends on whether

You’re fortuned

And want for others no less.

Depends on trying and failing,

On seeing failure as lessons well learned,

Depends on hope, love and sharing,

So dependent on how your butter was churned.

Have No Fear, Wild And Free

I’ve given up for the night on attempting to write any more school reports. I have weans on the brain. Those I’ve been writing about, my own, my nieces and nephews, friends of my kids, you name it, I’m surrounded!

And they amaze me. They fill me. They are up to the mark on so many things I wasn’t even thinking about at their age. They’re so on the ball. Sharing their thoughts and feelings with a passion that leaves me speechless. OK, nearly. I have to have my say. And they come back at me, and they listen and they question and they share.

Gawd, how they share! Do weans these days have no embarrassment?!

Seriously, I won’t tell you what ‘inappropriate’ stuff filters through my poor lugs. I’m scandalised half the time and, fortunately, honest enough to acknowledge that the only thing that stopped me from sharing so much for so long was fear. They don’t seem to have that. Well, they do, in some ways, for things I can’t believe they fear. Then they go and say or do something that leaves me gasping WTF!

They are tremendous. Truly tremendous.

Young minds engaging in absolutely everything and with passion and a sense of truth and justice I am proud to say must have had something to do with their parenting. Even a little.

As for the rest, the times they live in, we live in, guarantee easy engagement.

I could go on forever as to why this matters to me, to us, but I won’t, hoping instead that my poem says it more succinctly. If it doesn’t, I have a cohort of youth at your disposal to enlighten you to their feelings and thoughts.

You’ll find them near an almost empty fridge. Do they ever stop eating? No wonder they’re all towering above me. In more ways than one.

We’d better laugh just now,

The kids are crying,

They’ve taken all they’re gonna

And that’s sad,

Sad they ever had to

Deal with lying,

Keep on trying

To oppress,

The kids are mad,

Mad as hell,

Just like their mental mothers,

Sanity in fathers

Gone for good,

Pressure boils the cauldron,

Can’t contain it,

Watch out folks,

For kids misunderstood,

Understanding new,

Where once was absence,

Absent fathers,

Mothers gone to pot,

Bubble, bubble,

Here comes trouble,

Children,

Raised without

Deserved, so

They’ve got

Passion in their veins,

The kids can’t help it,

Fires in bellies

Where there should be food,

Listen to their grumbles

And you’ll see it,

Won’t take much more,

The kids don’t need the ‘hood.

Courage on their foreheads

Like a tattoo,

Raising merry hell in politics,

Ask them,

Go on, ask them

Can you take it,

Up to all the spin

And dirty tricks.

Child from streets

Not talkin’ ’bout the ghettoes,

Kids like yours,

Like mine,

They see it all,

Festering, they burst it

Then anoint it,

Blessed be,

The kids won’t take the fall.

Savvy on the streets

And in the parlours,

Talkin’ jigsaws,

Piecing all the bits,

Whoopdedoo,

Some arse is due for whipping,

Generation 20′ need their fix.

Rocking chairs we ride on

Are now seizing

Little bits of pasture gone if dealt

On the pain of children,

That’s called justice,

Not too late yet

If we feel what’s felt.

Riding with the kids,

No need for Harley,

Hair to air on horsepower from inside,

Comin’ at you,

Watch the film now screening,

No place to run to,

Braves are running wild.

Wild and free,

We know that we were there once,

Difference being,

Not a bit afraid,

Everything’s been shared on social media,

Not got a secret left,

They’ve all been played.

Free from fear,

The kids are on the rampage,

Some misdirected,

That’s just par for course,

But watch the wonders,

Surging all around us,

Youth with yearning,

Action and discourse.

Gawd, excited! Can’t you feel their movement!

Battalions brave, bevy beautiful,

Lads and lassies,

More than hopeful, fired up,

Subtled to astute

‘Tween ruled and rule.

V is for Liberation

Another song. Very much loud and upbeat and ‘get it up you’. My reasons are real and angry on behalf of people I know. Sick of hearing more bad news. Sanctions have to stop. There is no chorus. No repeat.

Child of sorrow, can you feel the hunger,

Can you hear the whistle on the wind,

Hitched to slavery, ghosts still passing,

Grab your ticket, let the ride begin.

Hollow metal scrapes their rails, tracks rattle,

Wagons pushed and pulled by your own steam,

Fuel the furnace with your sweat and troubles,

Don’t pull the brakes, they cannot bear the screams.

Fill that train to full and overflowing,

Pack them tight together, tight can’t fight,

I’m telling, make a space and take a deep breath,

Get ready now to try to steer this right.

She’s my sister, he’s my brother, see them,

Faces thrust from windows, searching air,

Gulps to catch and hold a little longer,

Surging past, a blur to platform’d stares.

Leaving every hour, each new minute,

Timetabled to the death or sanctuary,

Can you hear the whistle, ghosts are blowing,

One way ticket, round trip back to here.

Disembark and stand upon your platform,

You took the ride, a ticket trip to hell,

New customers are waiting, let the vendors

Hold on tight, they’re owed that trip as well.

Better hope the first lot had a good ride,

What, no sympathy for devils cast,

Alive or dead, they’re coming back to haunt you

Their final journey has to be your last.

Whistle growing closer, steam clouds churning,

Mixing with the cloud forms you can’t see,

Visions, signs in skies, you will not read them,

Better luck than some, I’m shouting ‘V!’

All In The Stars

There are stars in the sky and they’re shining for you

The way that I wished them to do

And, though some are falling, releasing the spell,

The lights of the others hold true.

There are rays so fantastic directed on you,

That’s all that I hoped they would do

And though you can’t see them, averting your eyes,

Their heat must be felt through and through.

There are dreams in their beams empowering you,

That’s all that I dreamed of, it’s true,

And though disbelieved as some sleepers awake

I’ll keep on wishing and dreaming for you.