Sunny Day

It was another hot and sunny day

Global warming, so they say

She was sitting on my corner of the street

Dust devils dancing round her feet

Her tee shirt was a little fly

Matched the shadows round her eyes

"Welcome to the party" was what it said

I laughed at her new greeting for the dead

She smiled, the slow smile that I know so well

A devil's doorway greeting into hell

But we're friends so I didn't take offence

In her job there's no sitting on the fence

I shared her cigarette, joked a while

I guess I'm go get used to her smile

Got the diagnoses yesterday

"Life's a bitch" they always say

"Are you packed ?" she softly said

Welcome to the party of the dead.

Doug

1. Early Morning Shadows

Rain, grey banked cloud driven north wind, face stinging rain

A long dark church, shadowed by yew, shrouded in gravestones, huddled in age. A low wet flint, shining tower. A single hollow bell: tolling its solitary note into the grey sky.

Dark, splintered wood. The rough knotted wood of a pauper’s coffin, heavy and swaying on the shoulder. Stumbling in gravel, each step sharp like a fall of money on a floor. Each step holding face and hands in the ice numbing touch of the rain. The stinging touch of as thousand tiny knives on the skin.

The north wind. A wind that twists the yews in a dance of pain. The long cold fingers of ice that caress like a cruel love, taking warmth and repaying pain. A wind that drives the priest into the scanty shelter of the lych gate, that drives the rain twisting and turning in gusts deep into the shadows of the leaning gravestones. That pulls a mournful keening from the twisting yews and low dark clouds.

Sorrow: sorrow and waste. The sharp cut of an undeserved loss. A dull ache that gives moisture to be snatched by the wind, fuels the winter rain.

Watching from a distance huddled in the shelter of porch and the yews a few mourners: more curious than sad. Another coffin, another shallow pauper grave in ground far from the church door. Another grave with no stone from the mason. Just a wooden cross, rotten in a few years, gone in a few more.

A sodden triptych at the grave’s head, the priest an insufficient Christ. The Sexton and his helper at either side: thieves at their stations pouring long streams of sodden earth into the hollow ground.

Such pain, such sorrow and loss buried in a low untidy mound in a winter’s grave. A memory of soft laughter drowned in dark yew and gusting rain.

Turn away. Step from the dark grass on to the gravel path. Walk carefully between the stubborn clumps of crouching weeds. In the distance a coach waits. The horses stamp restless in the wind and the rain.

Wake, wake on the early morning with the bedclothes warm against the face and gusting, windblown rain falling on the bedroom window.

Doug - first chapter of a ghost story I started writing and never finished.

Just  a Sunny Day

Ran into Death recently.

It was a beautiful day

The sun was shining, the sky was blue,

Picture book perfect.

She was sitting on a wall smoking a cheroot,

It suited her. Big C was with her

He looked gross so no change there.

Seeing me he nodded, pointed his finger,

“Watching you”, I nodded back.

Bad news travels fast.

Death grinned and looked me up and down:

“Not ready for you yet but you’re up the list”.

I know.

The sun was shining, the breeze was warm

Ice cream still tasted nice.

But now 

I know

Everything is temporary.

Doug - was diagnosed with cancer last week. Feel a bit  pi**ed off

Summer Song

The silver-shards of summer

Dance in your lover’s eyes

Words like drips of honey

Fall, heavy with her lies

Sitting in the river’s light

Holding heart in hand

Talking into silence

Sinking into sand

I know that you will leave me

To dance another’s dance

Smother me in silence

Play your game of chance

I smile at your apologies

Code within your lies

And think of other promises

Made ‘neath lying summer skies

Doug

After All

Perhaps there is a meaning

In recalling things we did not do?

In measuring all our failures

In memories I have of you

I remember that, in parting,

You called me out,” Your favourite fool”

As the summer afternoon was ending

And dreams, like glass were shattering

For us all

I took my chance in soldiering

In rolling dice, see how they fall

And you took your chance to widowhood

The empty bed, the silent hall

We met, in summer, as we’d partied,

Your children wondering why I’d called

Perhaps in memories there is silence

Perhaps some meaning after all.

Doug

Melody for her Third Birthday

She’s got a smile just like the devil

Alighting on a soul

And a walk just like a pirate

On the loose.

She’ll steal her sister’s favourite

Teddy with a smile

And stand, fists clenched at her mother

Shouting “juice”.

She’s this season’s classic toddler

With her eyes upon the world

Shouting “Grandad” with a grin

Each time I call

She hugs me and she loves me

Then treats me like a wall

A part of life’s rich pattern

After all

I’m playing in her movie

Where I’ve got a bit scene role

And I know I’ll leave the building

Before the credits roll

But when she jumps on me, she’s laughing

I’m proud to watch her grow

And I’ll give her one last cuddle

When I know it’s time to go

Doug

Remember

I remember

The track to the field

was edged with banks

Of flowers, dancing

In the fitful breeze.

The summer sun

was warm, caressing,

and I shaded my eyes

against the light. We

held hands, I remember we

held hands and I kissed you

In the tree’s green shadows.

Your breath was soft,

Your hand was warm,

And the afternoon

seemed to last forever.

I remember, I remember,

I remember, even within

My tears I still remember.

Doug

The Waves

Floating, like a child floats

Rocking easy within each wave

Gazing at the deep blue sky

Swirling above with calling gulls.

 Could I, like Phlebas

just forget and simply

Float with the current

Of the warm sea forever

Empty and content,

 Perhaps that was the

Answer? But, alone with the

Crying gulls and the slow

Rocking of the summer sea

I had forgotten the Question.

 Lost in the dance of salt water

And a hot summer afternoon

I floated, content with nothing,

Content with being empty

And lost, gone from the world.

  At peace with the swell and the gulls

Doug

Salt

Perhaps our love

Was slightly tart

Tangled in the

Sharp edged waves

Of a sea of laughs

And kisses.

Perhaps our ardour

Was like a Friday night

Chippy, neon sharp

With beery eyes

And salty tongues.

And when we parted

Hard, tart quips

Traded like spears

Cold and sharp

Bitter to taste.

Remembering

On the winter beach

Sea salted tears

Blowing

In the wind

Doug

in the deep beginning

when love was just a spark

light was made the living salt

 that bloomed eternal dark

 and in your eyes and being

 the feelings make a knot

I want to be salted through you

yet vital in one spot

 where the starlight glistens

 fading with moonshadows

where the silence listens

 intense as our love grows

 around the islands of delight

deeper than knowledge knows

here in your special paradise

 where I long to suppose

 tied in eternal love-knots

invisible seams just right

delicious doing daring

salted in one love-light.

Alex

Poems by Alex and I based on the same title. We sometimes (actually quite often) write and exchange poems based on the same idea.

My Misty Muse

the warm air

drifts in reverie

the pent-up spirit dares to dream

the green shoots pout

 for there's sap in the tree

a vagrant song inhabits the stream

 beneath the gleam,

 there lies the deep

under the shine of half-moon eyes

as life comes bursting

 out of sleep

thoughts in the mists of first surprise

 and milky veils

 that clothe the hills

eaten by sun and drunk with rain

while over cliffs

 a white life spills

beauty to carve yet ease thirst's pain

 torment to speak

when life's so good

so strange ,so clear my love stands tall

so tough, so fine

so in the mood

our thoughts like Spring together call

 there is no need

but you're my way

my touchless thought,my given glee

an instinct prattling

 out to play

creation's salt source in your sea.

Another poem by Alex

vagrant tune

the warm air drifts in reverie the pent-up spirit dares to dream the green shoots pout for there's sap in the tree a vagrant song inhabits the stream there is no need just nature's way the touchless thought, gives giving glee all instinct prattling out to play that sparkling salt source of the sea beneath the gleam, there lies the deep under the shine of lovely eyes as life comes bursting out of sleep and breath becomes the first surprise and milky veils that clothe the hills eaten by sun and drunk with rain while over cliffs the white life spills and scars the crag like lips of pain torment to speak when life's so good so strange , so clear so big and small so tough, so fine, so in the mood as thoughts like Spring hold me in thrall

Alex

A poem by my friend and fellow poet: Alex

Sprite

The early day that

Clouds the world in milky mist

Gilds all the flowers, stiff

In shinning armour

That give me silence as I walk

That billows like ice edged blankets round

My every step.

 Sometimes I think that

I will meet you here, again

With a soft smile of welcome

On your lips and

A light like silver in your eyes.

 It’s been a long time

Since you waylaid me

With your smile and wide flung

Arms of welcome.

And your soft sweet voice.

 But you always were fickle

Like a wandering sprite wont to drown me

In your stream. or close me a tree’s embrace.

Your hands caressed, your lips

Beckoned, but you left me

Ike the breeze in summer.

 Leaving me with the morning

And the mist.

Doug

Waves

I always loved the waves

Thin rills, coming and going

Ever nearer, ever nearer

The sand, brushed with footprints

Washed clean with each wave

Ever nearer, ever nearer

I didn’t know then

What I had would be lost,

Like shadows from the passing sun.

That what seemed forever, was not

Now only the waves are left

For me to love

And each day, they come

Ever nearer, ever nearer.

Doug