Friday, 17 January 2020

Feed The Flames
Gather round
the hearth
it’s a cosy place
if the fire is burning
and we’ll keep it burning
never fear
the flames
a living fire.
Gather round,
we’ll keep it burning
the home fire
let yourself
be hypnotised
be mesmerised
by the flickering flames,
waving and dancing.
Listen to them
as they crackle
and scream
as a living fire must.
Gather round,
never fear
feed the flames.

Wednesday, 15 January 2020

The Suitcase
Back then, we had a theory.
We thought that a suitcase
was easier to get into cars
than a rucksack and thus,
drivers were more likely
to pick up hitchhikers
with a small suitcase.
It worked like a dream
and it carried our dreams.
I came across our old suitcase
buried in a heap of debris in my attic.
It was battered from it’s long journeys
and even longer vacation.
Its clothing was torn
exposing its cardboard credentials.
I haven’t opened it yet
so it’s unclear
if it’s still full
or if it’s empty.
Once we packed it full
of our dreams,
but now
I wonder
if any remain,
caught in the lining perhaps,
or if they’ve all have been carried away
with our lost memories
or buried in the debris
of the past.

Sunday, 12 January 2020

When I was a child Lakeside
was my favourite family outing.
I loved the freshness of the cool air,
the grey bleakness of the water
and the windblown beach
that seemed to go on for ever.
I would roll up my pants
and race my sister to the water’s edge.
We’d dare each other into the water.
We knew it would be cold
too cold to let it wet much of us,
too cold to stay wet for long
but we loved the comfort of the thick towels
that would be wrap us round like blankets
We loved it like a perversion.
We loved it all.
I’m sitting there now
all these years later
and overdressed.
I hadn’t reckoned on global warming,
hadn’t expected to see people swimming
in the warm blue water,
lying on the beach
in the sunshine,
hadn’t expected that
I would be
so overwhelmed
and so overdressed.

Friday, 10 January 2020

Spaghetti Head
Everything is in such a tangle
it’s impossible to explore
where the threads lead,
impossible to work out
these coloured threads of a life
intertwined like spaghetti
scrambled in my head.
The outside is much simpler
much more solid
more concrete
building blocks
of comprehension.
But even so
I can’t make sense of them
can’t manage to put the shapes in order
and as soon as they enter my head
they are shredded into looping noodles,
beautiful hoops and tangles.
And beauty seems more important
than compressibility.
Perhaps I’ll grow
to understand them in time
those colourful threads of life
intertwined round and round
like spaghetti inside my head.