I killed Santa
and then I broke
your heart.
I couldn’t lie.
I thought you knew.
This was the day
he died.
I told you,
he was a dream
to gently wake -
I whispered this
was part
of growing
up.
Yet still
the tears rolled
and you sobbed
and you cried again,
not foolish at all -
forever like,
a child.
Back from your adventure.
There you are. Stretching on the sofa.
Did the rain bother you?
We wondered if you’d sheltered -
you’d never seen such weather.
And we worried and we hoped,
and we tried not to wonder.
Had you ventured very far?
“I’m hearing wails”
(said our neighbour)
“… can you hear them too?”
Oh, how we ran to put on shoes,
hoping it would be
you.
Every day I kick myself.
Is this laughter really mine?
Loud like bad played notes
on a cheap plastic horn.
But I am so proud.
And the stories they tell,
and the pictures they show -
ah, such wonder!
How did this occur?
There is no weariness now.
Suddenly I am, Superman -
jumping and giggling into life,
clamouring too with love.
When
you were born
I didn’t cry.
I was struck dumb -
could not describe
the feelings felt
for you.
Immediate,
like electricity
running through
my restless back
and flooding in
my empty head,
my vacuum heart.
Something,
switching on
deep inside
and bewitching
with delight,
and sparks
of life -
lightening
my soul.
But not,
like raptured
passion’s flame
or glowing ember’s
warm embrace,
nor kinship
of years
or kindly smiles
from journeys
shared.
No,
this feeling …
It was Instant.
It was Persistent.
It was Beautiful.
And I’ll never forget,
and I cannot escape,
and still cannot describe
beyond mere love
and loving
you.
May whatever you do, be better than what you’ve done,
Reclaimed from hard-drudged hours, like distilled time.
Where dreams are hoist with steadfast will and laughter peels
Against the hollow cry of pitied fate that follows all but you.
May you dare to run with winds, then leap the shadowed ground
To whisper calls at stirring night, not feared of worried days.
And you, who triumphs in the light will be joyous in the dew
Beguiled and surprised to tell of truths, to likes of you and I.
May you always stay temperate in the sluice of unkind rains,
Bite parched tongues that rise to taste the bracken pall,
Find blue opals in the darkest well of circumstance,
And stretching, go beyond our normal mortal reach.
And long may you embrace all things that you will learn
And speak of such to those you know, and don’t.
May your breath be strong and full, and your songs be sung
And leave a smile in mind for those you aim to teach.
Oh may you hear amongst the shouts, the murmuring of souls -
Seek wonders found in chance and call of happenstance,
And understand the understandings you shall heed
And then, may you recall these wishes left by me.
You had a glow about you
amongst the harvest souls.
Pin sharpened in the blur,
like a gilded lion you spoke to me.
Smiling, serene and standing proud -
the one to notice in the crowd.
No need to seek you out -
you had a glow about you.
And I heard (but did not hear)
and I saw (but did not see)
and then I knew.
You, are
mine.
We are your aches and pain -
indenture you must bear.
On kind shoulders
column strong - with prideful grace
for hold of acrobats.
Not dare we tell of minds,
in awe of patient kind
that is your way.
Forgetting belligerence,
regretting not the binds -
you guardian sleep the world,
raising sun and moon as we desire,
tucking in the day.
Bananas
and onions
that’s all
he wants to eat.
Oh! This little boy
will be the death of me.
He rides his bike
without his helmet on,
and wails when I defy his will -
makes me feel that I am wrong,
when his trousers
are too loose and itch
his thrashing legs
that kick me in the jaw.
‘Lighten up’ I think when he
tightens up his noose on me,
this bedtime story heckler,
this seasoned pre-school shirk
up against a punch drunk fool
waiting to hear the bell.
And one of us will go to hell
but I’m sure it won’t be him.
It’s when he smiles you see -
he’s an angel, who hides
his wings.
When you become a father
The world turns differently
And wheels that used to spin
Now roll with soul within.
I watched you drawing,
and I was just so happy.
You crossed the road alone,
and found the best view
then set yourself up -
as if for the thousandth time.
Did you know I was sneaking
quick looks across the way?
You, sitting on that pavement box
like an awkward wunderkind.
Me, watching your head weaving,
back and forth - collecting
what you saw, placing it all
so carefully on the sketch
you drew so beautifully.
You looked so content,
so grown-up. I felt selfish
in my want for you to stay
forever in such a happy place
along with the scribblings
that marked your new adventure.
Ah well, at least you may remember
the day you drew a picture of our house
and the time you made your father
so very, very proud.
I shall leave some words
for you to find when I am gone.
Words from the secret one -
written thoughts not dared to voice.
Words from the inside -
sculpted from imaginings,
into real, tangible things.
I will leave some words
for you who seek
a part of me that’s
left behind.
Dad
once kicked a ball
so high - I swear,
it disappeared
into the clouds
higher than the stunt kites
he taught us how to fly.
That’s how it seemed,
and I remember
the green of the park.
This was the day
when we found a weir
(the one I lost my shoe in)
teeming with flashing trout,
and I was just so proud
when he cast his line
and reeled them in.
Speaking of water,
we sometimes stayed
on his cabin boat.
Named after us kids it was.
We didn’t see him much,
so these were special times
that always ended with
wind-tinkling masts
and exciting next day plans.
He was a captain,
with an adoring crew.
And, he had THAT look too!
His jazz look.
It would embarrass me so -
all beatnik crazy.
Nodding, finger-popping,
shouting “yeah”,
with starey eyes
and big band styled
hep cat smiles.
Ah, If only
I’d realised then.
I’d want to write
a thousand lines,
a million words or more -
about him, about laughter
about amazement - about growing up.
But that’s selfish,
so I won’t.
Don’t look at me with naïve eyes,
like big splashed pebbles before sun
awaiting the kiss of eternal sea
or laughing curl of children’s toes.
Don’t look to me for all I can defy,
my vanity feigns to hold these years -
for you, who grows, whilst I stay old.
Don’t look back, don’t look ahead,
Don’t look now, don’t look, don’t look!
You’ll know when the moment comes
to race alone cross coarser sand,
towards the tide for running’s sake,
across the marks of necklaced time.
Then, you’ll look at me to say goodbye,
you’ll turn and wave, to face the spray
and I’ll throw away your little shoes.
I can’t
decide if you are mine
or happenstance that falls
like bonfired leaves
on unsuspecting
souls like me.
I can’t
explain.
This grand design,
this torch you hold
that shines and warms
my heart, like …
wintered fairground rides
in turning sun, awake
and overjoyed
to be alive.
I can’t
ignore your
beacon reach
that tugs my soul -
swaying colour greyed,
from numb of age
to weight of days.
I can’t
exist without
the growth and flow
of you, of all you are,
and may become.
I simply can’t
deny this love I feel.
I can’t, I can’t,
I can’t.
Our joy awoke
and drank
the world in one.
Shared the air
with lungs like
unfurling wings,
sending heartbeat
cries around
the world.
Nestled and rolled,
curling like paper
handmade
by caring souls.
But strong,
like a wild foal
already tall
in utterance
of love.
(For Jared Daniel).
Fix sequined hearts
to outstretched firs,
and spotlight’s catch
on needle arms.
Hang foiled smiles
then bury them
in green of dawn and wait
for gold-noosed days.
Come sparklesnakes
and silvered dew
and chocolate
in the mornings.
This time of year,
this very night,
this very moment -
let us decorate
the trees!
There is one,
in the many sweet voiced souls.
Singing proud like a joyous bell
amid the peel of fluted tones
through cherried cheeks
and beauty’s song.
She is mine, and I am proud
of her, dancing beyond the crowd -
a voice apart of lilting gild
that brushes single tear’s fall
upon this love that hides
within my melting heart.
When we found the bomb, it was rusted.
like an abandoned mower fallen down,
rotting amonsgt the roots and moss
a grey backed breakfast for worms
and insect insignias barely visible.
Under the lost brown over-run
of its shattered iron case.
I think it was you who first tripped
over this blunt cutter of men
lying for years unknown
in the peaceful forest green.
It was size of two strong arms -
reaching out to us through
the softbed verdant floor.
Before, we were young boys -
bored of the gravel track, wanting
wild trees and Action Men
and McQueen punched jaws -
anything but clipped old man’s roads.
Then, Dad told us; “Go on! Run off!
Find something really exciting to do!”
That’s exactly what we did.
My ambivalence is an irrelevance.
For they, are the enthusiasm of life condensed.
Beautifully illuminated like playful little meteorites
plotting random vectors across my ordered sky.
The world is all but a wondrous climbing frame
for these busy souls - that cling with gravity
when told it’s time to leave.
My introspection is no exception.
For they, are the conscience of vain mundanity.
Their helium voiced, small-fry dive for pearls
is deep in the ocean of my everyday.
Jumping with such fine bones of glee,
into the boringness of me. In search, and trail
of some outrageous mystery.
My frustration should be celebration.
For they, are joyous in the suckle of discovery.
Like young bees in honey dance and thrill of find
of fragrant flowers’ golden powdered load.
My unbridled joy is in the moments shared
with their fledgling winged adventures
and wide eyed stories told.
My intent then, is the content of a diamond.
For they are oblivious to the drudge and toil -
no crowded hive or sad polluted sea and sky.
I pray that they continue to know this delight,
of whom they are today. Like moonlit flares
showing us all how amazing it is,
to be alive.
Young pirates don’t watch T.V.
They loop from beam and sail,
rocking their boat,
bountifully nefarious,
laughing mad.
You is more than a game, boy!
Leave that Sorry Plaything®,
and swing.
Forget these cathode scenes,
and get some sunshine in.
Go forth, discover islands new,
hoist your pride up high.
See your cutglass smile.
Dancing in parallel,
me and the snowglobe girl.
Tilting my axis,
beautifully unsettled,
everytime.
She is magnified,
glass clean and artic pure,
An enchantment.
All I am and all I can be,
balanced like a leaf,
on a fairground rail,
change and motion stirred.
Just watching the flow.