Day: March 19, 2016

Then we shall learn the limits of our will

When soft winds blow and air strokes our bare skin.
When days are long like melodies of youth,
when light wakes up the soul from out her sin
Then shall we know when this sweet life is truth?

When flowers droop and leaves are dried and brown;
When water’s short and all  plants are forlorn’
Then do not meet disaster with a frown,
For out of heartfelt sorrow new life’s born.

When winter’s here and all is quiet and still
And nothing seems to move or grow or speak
Then we shall learn the limits of our will
for through the soil the first green shoots will break.

For seasons change and actors come and go.
Yet through such changes, life is what we know

Last train to Moscow

Elena,a baby wrapped in woollen clothes.
On the last train,Warsaw to Moscow,
[ change Niegoreloje.]
1939.Father,mother,brother
You passed through the Arctic Wastes of life.
Still as if travelling on a train
To an impossibly far destination.
As you left the German Army crashed into Poland
Lost,your aunts
Your cousins.
Your culture.
How does God select the damned?
You had your own baby,here in England,
Not lost like all those others.
Your father died by his own hand,
The hand of history;
The fingers twitching,
Not sure where to point.
Then settling into frozen grief
A sculpture only your mother saw.
You saw too,Elena.
You always saw,though you can’t remember;
The long journey,your mother’s breast,
Your father’s silence.
Only the dead know that silence.
Only the dead weep
With the rocks and stones .
And the ice in each eye
Fell like snow down your cheeks
As you held your own infant.
Warsaw to Moscow,
Moscow to Jerusalem.
Always journeying
Looking for what they can never find:
The home they left behind
The presence of the dead
Lying in gaunt heaps
Like rubbish
Your aunts, Elena.
Your cousins.
You never knew them.
But there’s a hole in your mind
Through which the Polish wind blows forever.

Raindrops running down my cheeks.

 

The bus is late and I’m
Thinking of what you said,
trying to understand, but
I’ve never met you,so
I have nothing but written words
Which,however beautiful,may not give
enough for me to truly imagine
the depths of your heart.
My legs hurt and I have a cane
But I don’t like it.
I can’t accept
my own infirmity,my troubles,
my pains,my disagreements,my mistakes.
Rain falls over me and drips down the lens
in my spectacles,as if the world is weeping
the tears I can’t shed.
If I cried now,standing at the bus stop,
for all the years of pain
noone would know,they’d
think it was just
raindrops running down my cheeks.
The bus comes,but it’s half term…
The shops are too crowded,I can’t
Stand in queues…imagine how most of you
say it’s boring.Well,I’d love to do it
but I’ve decided the pain is greater
than the rewards.
The bus driver stops at a place where
the pavement has been lowered to allow
the owner of this house to drive
their car into the front garden
so they won’t need to buy
a resident’s parking permit.
It makes it a harder task to descend
from the bus and I hope he won’t
start while I’m still getting down.
In the coffee bar are exhibits from
a local museum,and I think,one day
my cane and my watch from Argos,
my shopping bag with a picture of Monet-
such vulgarity…..
they may be in a museum too…
along with my door keys
my bike lock and my spectacles
and will somebody try to conjure me up
in their imagination.
Someone who used to like Topology
Knitting,writing and holding hands with lovers
on the top deck of the bus
crossing central London without noticing
anything except their reflections in the eyes
of the other.
Light bounces to and fro.
My mind shuts down, the words
packed away in boxes,till there’s only
you and me and a few elementary particles
trying to recreate the world
with the big bang
that will end it all.

Stan wants a meringue.

Stan and Annie were clearing a big desk to make space to study government
statistics.Despite this Annie was dressed as brightly as a mad peacock on l s d. in turquoise cotton trousers and a teal blue viscose   and polyester [with 5 percent elastane  V necked striped top.She chose the V neck was because she thought it made her look slimmer but if that were so it was contradicted, somewhat paradoxically, by the clinging induced by the elastane in the fabric.
What a problem dressing is nowadays she murmured.Her bedtime reading was “Contradiction, Paradox,Woman and Society” by the unknown,unseen yet internationally famous author Dr K. R. Craibaite “Paradox and contradiction are the route to understanding” was the  last sentence she had read before she fell asleep last night.Then. she had dreamed she saw a mouse eating a lion.No wonder she had indigestion today.
“Shall I make the coffee” she said to Stan.
“No,dear.I’ll do it if you can get the graph paper sorted.”
Stan stood up and walked across the room with a dazed expression.
“I hope he’s not been trying self hypnosis again” she thought quixotically.He returned with two large mugs of steaming hot coffee.
“Would you like a meringue” he enquired.
“I’d love one.”
“So would I,” he answered glumly.”But we have no cake at all.”
“I blame Tony Blair.”
“Why him?”
“Well,I have to blame someone,don’t I?”
“Why not blame yourself”
Stan began to sob and moan.
So Annie rang 999.”Can you send a paramedic.My friend needs a
meringue.” she said in a friendly tone.
“What do you think the N.H.S. is , a cake shop?” the receptionist replied assertively in ringing tones.
“Well,we older folk need cakes!”Annie cried.
“How old are you,” the lady said.
“Why is there some cut off point?” Annie retorted…
..”Yes,we only supply meringues to centenarians!” she was told.
“Well really,whatever next,” Annie cried in shock.
“I suppose they have to economise now and can no longer supply cakes and ale to pensioners like they used to do.”
But we could send you some toasted mouse sandwiches,” she was told.
“Don’t bother,” she cried fortuitously.
The heat had made her makeup run and small rivers of turqouise,black and blue were crossing her face giving it the appearance of a large bruise.She wished she had followed the advice her mother had given her,
“When in doubt,leave it out”
Or,was it “when in doubt,say nowt” or even
“when glum ,keep mum.
“I would have kept Mum,”she thought resentfully, “but the law won’t let you once they die”.
“Why do we have so little freedom here in England?” she asked Stan querulously
.”I can’t tell you” he croaked mysteriously.
“Why not?”
It’s forbidden by the Official Secrets Act.”
“After we finish the statistics on unemployment and mental health we could look into Official Secrets,” he promised her mellifluously.
“Stan, you are so good.” she said gratefully.
Will you wash my new jeans?” he asked.
“Why can’t you do it?” she fretfully quizzed him
“I don’t want Mary to see them.”
“Gosh it’s 5pm .She’ll be back soon.
“We’ve not got far today.
I expect we can make up for it tomorrow.”
Not wanting to contradict him she remained silent whilst he studied her face like an a psychologist trying and failing to see meaning in an ink blot.
Then the doorbell rang.It was Dave,the paramedic with a tray of mouse sandwiches.What a lovely  surprise that was.
Hello,Dave,Annie cried.I love your slim jeans.
“They shrunk in the washing machine but as they are stretch jeans they still fit.” he told her gently.
“You can say that again” muttered Stan.As for Emile,he had blushed as soon as he saw them.”My goodness,he’ll do himself an injury,”he thought.”Still,it’s free country at the moment.

I shall know when you are gone

I have loved you and I’ve held you.
Many years,you have been mine;
If the time has come for parting

Let us embrace for one last time.
I know you have to leave me,
Though you desire a longer stay.
Let me hold you in my arms now
For just tonight and perhaps one day

Then I’ll watch you travel on now.
We take this last step all alone.
I’ll be here beside you always..
I shall feel when you are gone.

May you accept,may you surrender.
May you reach the promised land.
Into this earth my tears will fall, love,
As I recall your tender hands.