Poems, Spring 2020

Fire Contained

Quick flurry of birds

out of tree

signalled the explosion

then the smoke - 

grey and black and billowing

and the machine -

the metal body 

of tractor

disintegrating

before our very eyes

and the eyes of neighbours

and their children. 

Some cars passed 

unwise as it was to risk 

going so close 

to the guzzle

of parts and petrol.

As we ran

I pictured scar tissue 

and a vacancy appeared 

in my chest 

just had we spoke

about all that had been given 

just as soon as 

in that moment

all could have been taken 

away.

Now I burn logs 

and candles

because

fire contained

is a beautiful thing

as are most things

when contained. 

_____________________________

On Both Days Mist

The day imbued

with mist shot in streams

blanketed beings

dressed as mountains

and all the gradients 

of a landscape 

stacked up 

and contoured - 

the pitfall at the break 

of a sentence

half thought 

left out of its shell 

suffocates in thin air 

wriggles senseless

unwrapped

the germ of it, forgotten

the root of it all 

seeps

into network 

dug bled and tuned

worried through

and sodden

*

all down and through 

the curves and skirts

- river of thick mist 

replacing estuary

seabed made instead 

once again

and moss laden tree trunks

with bare branches 

reaching upwards

I forgot it was winter

I forgot everything had died 

that

everything had gone to live

underground

so mild has it been 

so popping with colour 

blessed

with roaring sunsets

magenta blood clots 

jubilant

and clouds mottled 

like pattern on wings

_____________________________

Like a Drill

the dread is like a pip

iron-ground

the dread is like 

the metallic sting of a whip 

the tongue so rough

as it sandpapers knots

_____________________________

Hospital Cafeteria

Cream walls

anaesthetised in gloom -

a sticker on the back of a coffee machine - 

‘Please be warned 

this contains a substance 

which is banned in the state of California 

due to birth defects and 

reproductive complications’

I digress

I fill my mouth with plastic

I regress

into a child 

(oh wasn’t she big for her age wasn’t she sturdy couldn’t we all trust her to uphold herself carry herself strong and upright and wisely and wasn’t she clever wasn’t she forceful wasn’t she in charge couldn’t she lead the way couldn’t she be alone hold forth build castles kick them over without crying weren’t they sand wasn’t she pretty in her own tied up closed off nail and barack kind of way?)

Where to put the sadness? 

Where is the dumping ground?

(she eats an ice bun and the icing is white like her cap like her cap which stops the hair from falling astray into breakfast and all very reasonably priced all very fair)

Smell of burnt and jam it is currants it is a toasted teacake

Where to put the sadness!
I suspect this is such a place

for such a suppository 

one of those places

like a tip like a bonfire heap like 

an ocean floor

We sit in orbit around plastic tables made to look wooden 

and everything is clingfilmed 

- torsos and sandwiches  -

the only thing half-real is steam rising from cups 

(which are cardboard)

Grey hair and spotted scalps

thighs and bottoms 

trembling 

like volcanoes (just as profound and unsteady) 

A man with tattoos on his face

catches me staring

Now I must look down and seem -

(I wonder how much is transparent?)

_____________________________

Spring Roll

wrap me delicate

in rice paper gossamer gauze 

so my organs become 

sweetheart cabbage 

splinters of carrot radish ginger 

dip me in dark salt 

liquid tang

almost unbearable

almost too strong

then I can

swim in your mouth

drown in your stomach 

I am only small

I am only so small

_____________________________

Predator and Prey

I once flew

as both predator and prey

I chased the shadow

of that which hunted me,

the black space

swept across the field

and fear travelled

in the same way

across my heart,

tracked eternal

across forest and plain

never to be

alone again,

trapped

in solitary pursuit

_____________________________

Heart & Lung

Let me stay 

in your feather-down heart

and chest. 

Let me be a curled-up

mollusc,

a cactus, 

a dawn just cracked -

let me be 

thunder just clapped,

a womb freshly woven,

a trickle

of saliva

at midnight

or a slug. 

Let me assume

the role of nature

let me give you more

than anticipated

and less

than we agreed upon

…

in that agreement 

I sensed

the warmth

and promise

of a bedtime breath; 

like dough rising

under damp cloth

by fire expanding

in a glut

of celebration;

a testament

to the lungs

and their steady

beating

wings. 

Poems, Winter 2019

Potions

I ate chains for breakfast,

so past any semblance of amount

and how things should be

it was all but piles of pebbles

and more edible substances

such as bread torn and dipped

into marmalade,

husks of corn

or I don't know -

sticks,

or some such

compostable relics.

When we made potions in the garden

it was mud and tore-in petals;

the bathroom was toothpaste and shampoo

overflowing the sink

with their clean volume.

Somehow ordinary materials

such as bark such as baking soda

took on life-giving qualities

or if not life-giving,

promising alteration

at least.

I wish,

I wish there had been sparks

or apparitions.

All of that,

all of my actions

were sponsored by wish.

And where now are the fruits?

The proof -

in rich mangroves,

baskets full and toppling,

stored up from the harvest

of our unequivocal dream.

_____________________________

My grandmothers fed me

Grandma Jean

Welsh cakes (home-made, misshapen, with chewy half-burnt raisins, all dusted white with flour, sometimes too dry, best were fresh and warm from the oven)

Liquorice bears (Pandas to be precise)

Chocolate ginger biscuits (shortbread dipped in dark chocolate, with a crystallised cube of ginger)

Pasta bake (under-salted, plain, crunchy round the edges)

Turkey curry (always after Christmas – plain, under-salted, watery yellow)

Sandwiches cut into small triangles (tinned salmon and cucumber)

Watercress salad (served dripping wet from its rinse, weighed down by cherry tomatoes)

Darjeeling tea (near-white weak, with soya milk)

Honey-soaked apricots (dried apricots soaked in boiling water and honey, kept in Tupperware in the fridge, served with porridge)

Baba Rosa

Cherry slatko (jam with a paint-stripper sweetness, served straight from the jar with a spoon, to accompany afternoon coffee)

Noodle broth soup (an appetiser before lunch – salty stock with floating puddles of oil and chunks of carrot)

Roast potatoes and peppers (salty, greasy, good)

Kafa (Turkish coffee boiled with generous spoonfulls of sugar, drunk from small cups, thick sediment of grounds at the bottom)

Watermelon (size of a small planet, dripping with juice)

Cherries (dark-purple red, full bowl living as still life on the table)

Rakija (brandy made from plum, pear, grape, any fruit, a cure for everything, like a river of fire down the throat)

Lav beer (never quite cold enough, thick urine amber)

Plazma (aimed towards children but enjoyed by all ages, in biscuit or cereal form, claggy sugary wheat, with Bambi as its logo)

_____________________________

My grandmothers were chameleons

they learnt how to shed

poverty

and walked without shoes

through snow,

and war,

to school,

leaving but a trail of footprints

to their now ancient

futures. 

 _____________________________

Still

Four identical

tennis rackets,

square shelves and

Japanese screens.

Books that promise Joy and Wealth

in equal measures.

The light, late November and grey,

the morning, still,

promising frozen hands.

Gracious, evasive, honest when needs be

- these are the clothes I pull across my body

after my shower of cold air.

Records leaning to the left,

essential oils,

a singing bowl.

The slats are closed

- what day is this? 

_____________________________

Confluence

Chinese pear

with elephant skin,

colour of grey-green

or

water

in a paintbrush jar.

I pluck doubt from the tree-top,

sift sand through the letterbox,

I reach out with shy tentacles.

You rummage in my purse

and draw out a pocket

bled and tuned

like a leak

streaming through a keyhole.

_____________________________

Plea

Wake me up when it's tomorrow.

I want to see that greasy sun-face

I want to see the ocean, the stars,

I want to drool on gingham

and scrunch paper napkins

into messy rosebuds.

Give me a chance

to be a star

give me a stage.

Give me a soapbox, a signal, a lemonade stall.

Let me stand for my country and

orate everyman's lost ventures.

Let me be dumb-deaf and profound

let me colour every space in between.

Let me lose, let me wallow.

Let me be at least one or two or three

let me be four

let the whole town roar

let me tear the carpet to shreds

let me bray

let me sizzle on my knees

let me pray.

Let me in, I beg of you,

what more could I ask

what more could you give.

Let me bathe

let me lock down

let me simmer and cajole.

Let me light-hock and ham-nail

let me fathom in the board room

and crack knuckles on my breakfast.

Let me lounge

let me percolate

let me titter and tatter and teethe.

Let me thaw at midnight

let me spasm at dawn.

Let me lug let me teeter

let me spool out in jewels.

Let me value the price of a single sitting

let me lap it up

and marvel.

Let me choose a card

let me turn it like a pro.

Let me trick you into redemption

let me lie for you

let me wait.

Let me foxtrot let me boogie

let me go all night long

let me swallow.

Let me fuss let me fix

let me rile let me twist.

Let me furrow let me live

let me glide -

and be nothing more

than an imprint on a footprint

on the snow.

The surface now is calm.

Let us pray with our hands and feet and fingers

Thank God for gloves

Thank God for those underground networks

Thank God for worms and warmth and song

It is so still

the light so yellow.

Let me in

let me be there

when the clock sticks us all to tomorrow.

What a joy we can count it to exist.