Satchel

Flopped down,

eased into a heap

like Bagpuss

or a cow sagged out

after a morning of

cropping the grass;

relaxed, job done!

not a care in the world,

lolling, mouth open,

head full of dusty dreams,

stealing a few winks while

you have the chance –

before the rousing, the scuffling,

the stuffing, the loading up,

the pull of the corseting in;

then, girthed and buckled,

stoically hefting your burden

like a mute mule.

Sharp Reminders

the

sprig

of holly

you left at my flat

three years ago

shed a few leaves on the carpet

they lay in a corner

till today under a pile of clutter

books and dust

four waxen mementoes

cut off brittle

veins frozen in thin lines

wrinkling out of time

hoovering I remove them

remembering

how

 th

    ey

       hu

            rt

                                                                                      !

Stones

Standing stones in circles!

I wonder what they were for?

Wreathed in mist and mystery,

hinting at lives lived long ago.

Red sandstone of Furness Abbey

Glows rosy in the sun;

Blocks shaped with love and care

by hands of men long gone.

Limestone caves made magic;

Stalagmites and stalactites

form crazy convoluted columns

below ground well out of sight.

Men utilise these resources;

Quartz glitters in sparkling roads;

stone pyramids and temples

pay tribute to their gods.

Polished to make precious jewellery,

Statues of the great and grand,

Yet eroded through time by wind and rain

They’ll become as fine grains of sand.

Hay Green

Under the gas light, we sat,

Shelling winkles,

Slimy creatures

Of seaside pleasures.

Home made bread

Ladled with butter

On a gingham cloth,

And a jug of cider.

A pot hangs over the fire

With bubbling samphire,

Bringing the aroma of marshes

And russet orchards.

Here my grandmother lived,

Thriving off the land,

Sewing and reaping

And bringing in the sheaves.

A Sermon

God so loved the world,

that he sent his only begotten son,

to live and die as a man,

to teach us the love of God,

to teach us to love our fellow men,

and to turn the other cheek.

He instructed His disciples

to go out into the world

and take the message

to the unbeliever,

to lead them in the ways of God.

And so it was.

Those who refused to believe

were despised, reviled,

thrown from high places,

burnt at the stake,

speared, hacked to pieces,

hanged, pierced by arrows,

shot, fired from the mouths of cannons,

bombed, machine gunned,

napalmed or nuked.

Thine be the kingdom,

the power and the glory,

for ever and ever.

AMEN

Watching with Mother

I sit beside your bed with the clock ticking,

watch your blue eyes

gaze at the space between us,

and wonder if that light breathy sound

is yours or mine.

It is your bed breathing –

your airflow mattress joins us

in the wait;

sighs and soft breaths

pumped from a box

plugged in at the wall.

We too are plugged in,

locked in memory, love,

and the strain of holding on.

Today you seem not to be here.

Planning your departure,

are you, while I fill vacant hours?

Pheasants squabble over crusts on the lawn,

squirrels run beneath your window

and the sun streams in

to hold us in a dusty shaft.

Fisherman

Blurred granite range, mist-covered,

Hidden like heaven in an old man's mind,

Sways with ripples across pebble and post,

Hollow and niche, the five-mile fault

In the grey deep that grinds and groans

Into his old bones,

His hips and knees wasted and dry:

With rod and line he steps once more

Into icy cold, his mind moving

In currents and caves, seeking life in darkness,

The reeling in of his healing.

In the deep of the loch on the unknown bed

He distils the badness out of his life:

The foolish things, regrets,

The occasional sin.

Yet he knows that in his fishing

Beyond reflected light in his eyes,

In the secret regions

Where darkness turns and twists,

There lurks a mystery he should be wary of,

Something he should assuage, yet cannot,

It is so deeply ingrained:

The monster, leviathan, too strong to contain.