30 April 2006

First Day of School

The five year old climbs
the stile with her mother
and walks across
the school field
towards where
the microphone man
talks to the children at lunchtime.
She has heard his electric voice echo
over the fence
for months
and looks forward
to seeing his face
with excited anticipation.
Today is her day.

Under her new white shoes
is the moist autumn grass
with the dew of the day
hanging in feathery clutches
amongst the tiny spider web homes.
It is a long way across the field.
She counts 126 spider web homes
before her mind flits to the sky.
She looks at the clouds
with the secret knowledge
that they are the bones
of dead animals, and she
sees the spine of a dinosaur.

Shadows and silhouettes

Face lies on pillow
creases will be imprinted
on cheek for visitors to see
if any would come.

She is more concerned
with opening and closing
her eyes
one at a time
repeatedly
one at a time
and watching how
the long gray shadow
of the doorway moves
up
and down
up
and down
quickly and slowly
depending on
the speed of opening
her eyes
one at a time.

In the flicker
of alternate eye closing
and opening
She can see
the silhouette
of her nose.
Her father would be proud,
She is winking
without moving her mouth.

18 April 2006

Ineffability

There
have been
no written words

nor
any words
that speak adequately

of
an emotion
so profoundly whole.

I
search for
non existent words

What
I seek
remains sacred, nameless

04 April 2006

Scars on the Heart (for Clarence Moss, aka Papa Steve)

You were a telegram boy, then
a machine gunner in the war
when you saw and did things that
would have left scars on your heart
(and we complain about the weather)

You married your first wife’s sister
you were a father to four boys
two of whom were not yours
you would have had scars on your heart
(and we mither about the traffic)

The telegram boy saw technological changes
in a lifetime that went from
the horse drawn carriage to email
A writer and a dreamer
a gentle loving man,
and no scars were overtly apparent.
Your diary now forms a part of the war exhibition,
“Scars on the Heart”