When parents are bereft of woe
(By Gub, London, the 5th of September 2006)
When parents are bereft of woe
They’re dead, or slack, to life’s beat
Children jump on an open sheet
Fly off the bed
Break their feet.
Worry the burden of age,
The strife
Of begetting things
That carry lice.
That shout, that call
Moan.
Too large, too short
Too much,
Groan.
Summon, despise, despatch
In an instant
The sermon that took years
Precious hours of research
Dismiss with a burp
Well intended
care.
Raid the fridge
Attack the dog
With the bread-knife.
Little love
Little loss
The passing of the cross
We met again
Adults all, recall with gloss…
Till they bear pups
Which berate and bark
They have no inkling
Of the cycle
The dragging
Of the smaller self
Through the cold night
The muddied grass
Of urban park.
But meet and pass
As generation must
Carve initials in the bark
Remember the tree
Embraced by all
Surround together
Both large and small
Child, adult
Life’s a game
At half-time
Switch ends
Play on
For sure
Those who bat today
Must tomorrow
Catch the ball…
Weary lines
(By Gub, 4th of March, 2007)
Weary lines
Wake the face
Crimp-eye
Light blind
Vision
Dawn intruder
Day….
Comes
To test
The Faith
Pictures
Flown from
Memory
Recoil
Against
The frame
Child with toast
End of the bed
Grins
Selfless
Butter
Drips
On the counterpane
Corner
Of a calico
Curtain
Brush
Of leaf on wood
Cow lows
Sore sound
Fields
Distant
Mushrooms
Damp
Rise
Brown
Forest
Food
Sparks fly
From farmyard
anvil
TV screen flashes
Blue, cars light up
road
Night
Winter
Snow
Life so young
Should be good.
School waits
Small learning
adulthood
Sex begins
Won’t stop
Deep
Too deep
Childhood
Sleeps
Coursens
The pulse
Veins
That swell
Water drips
Dark
Darker
Into
The
Brown
Depth
Of time’s
Well
Morning recovers
Night’s bruises
Daylight
Smothers
The pale imprint
Of fingered
Excuses
The stifle
Cry
Of woken eye
The nightmare
Came
Re-told
becomes a lie;
a dare too far
refused.
Laughter cracks
(By Gub, the 12th of March, 2007)
Laughter cracks against
Wood
Playground frame
Father’s day
Stolen hours,
Tired,
Misunderstood.
Smiles crease
Fingers freeze
March’s shuttlecock
Bats winter back and forth
Teases
Spring’s release
An unseasoned marriage
Between sun and gold
Fun and cold
Mirth, grief….
Mood stalks
Youth
Deer’s hoof
Dappled light
Darkening wood
Hunters spear.
Heart
Hurt glare
Parents in
Separate
Spheres
Conjure
Bleak
Dissolution
Of innocence
River
Winds
Stitches bind
Life, purpose,
Irrepressible
Intent
Child’s voice
Falls
Captive
To a greater will
The future
Re-invents.
The broken oaks
Crack down
Wind spent
Cling for a
Season or two
Fall
On the forest floor
Green shoots
Permeate
Debris
Small heads rise
High
Not just surviving
But the better
To see…
The Step
(By Sil, HBC, July 2009)
Un-toiled labour
Un-heard sobs
Un-seen first steps
And un-fought swords
All time that passed
All years un-lived
Film reeled in the dark
In silent shift
And now you demand, you command
You are lost and I reprimand
Un-mother and un-child
Itched by unbearable chafe that we cannot un-fight
And oh! How it does bother
The step
The UN-SUR-MOUNT-ABLE step
Step
Son
Step
Mother
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