Time Travels

(By Sil, the 27th of July, 2010, Romania)

Overlooked
Shifting luggage
Smuggled aboard
Overhanging hangover
Of a different ball
The door forced shut
Memory pound small

How eager Nostalgia
Irons out the
Creased, yellowed fabric
Of lived in life
Into a sensuous
Constructed shape
Not the dour Reality drape

No good
Measuring years by
Pounds gained
Or innocence lost
I tell myself
Lost in the innocence
Of the
Mirror-played
“I’m not growing up”
Game

Every now and again
I return
To a beach
Where love threw
Bitter-sweet apples
My way

I long to
Run fingers
Through Youth’s
Luscious mane
But as I watch my son
Refract
In the pierced
Water membrane

Abandoned by time,
And insane
I throw
Still many more seconds
Away

About Your Father

(By Sil, the 20th of June, 2010)

Father’s
Words
Are
Wheels
You can borrow
For the Long Ride

In exchange of
Propulsion
You won’t
Leave
Your identity
At the gate

But you will
Have to
Build
Your own frame
With
Your own tools

He holds you close
So you can learn
That
It is manly
To cradle

He cries
So you would see
Under
Permeable skin
He is vulnerable,
But not weak.

You know
That his door
May be closed
But never locked
So enter.

In his cave of wonders
He preserves
Traces of his past
So you can
Dare
To look
Into your future.

Beginnings

(By Sil, June, 2009, London)

Of beginnings without heartbeat:
I am thrust into motion
Cat yanked awake from drowsy stupor.
What shall I tell you?
How do we begin
When it feels like
Whenever our eyes lock in steel gaze
I rediscover you – a stranger

Are we just being born
Moment by moment
Each new task
A new entering into the world
Without a midwife

Choking on fluid fear
No wonder I don’t breathe
No wonder being with me
Feels like riding an underground train
Jerk. Speed up. Slow down. Stop. Wait.
Breath again.

Fear Manifesto

(By Sil, the 3rd of June, 2010, London)

Passive,
I’d rather be the strapped-in passenger,
Not the sightless driver
Manoeuvring
Into the night of destiny
Even if it means
Even if it means
I am handing over the controls.

Heavy-eyed,
I rather mash the view in soft focus
Than stay alert
To the hazard-yielding panorama of being
Even if it means
Even if it means
I’m sleeping my life away.

Slow,
I’d rather toddle along the bridle path
Not race
On the highways of ambition
Where speed is the blood of direction
Even if it means
Even if it means
I never arrive.

Thrust into the driving seat
Too young
Feet dangle above the pedals
Gaze below the mirrors
My body
A car with no controls
To the brim filled with the fuel of fear
Clamps down.
I crash
On the unforgiving turns of life.

The Beduin Wedding Dress

(By Sil, Dahab, Egypt, December 2008)

This black canvas
Covered in loud cris-cross
Mis-matched pattern
Red thread and un-stiching seams
The lost-and-found lace
Infantile search for beauty
It will fall apart, surely
Made by impatient young hands
You can look too close and
Your examining eyes can tear it apart
Such fragile prettiness
Femininity in a black desert

Still

(By Sil, the 28th of May, 2010, London)

Trying to escape
Dog gets electric shock
After electric shock
Eventually it learns to
Just lie there and give up
The pain is in the doing
So it won’t do
Nothing can go wrong
When lying still
So it lies still
In stillness
She is free from punishment
The stillness – cage within the cage
Thus the lesson in helplessness
Is learned

When Parents are Bereft of Woe, Weary Lines, Laughter Cracks and The Step

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