Man of glass
fractured you stood
No longer, in residence anyone of your name
Spirals of memories –
fishing boats trawl waters deep
dream catchers with their secrets to keep
flickering images of black and white
reliving fragments of others acceptance.
Mother dear you’ve stitched that piece before
I know, you knew, that one day
someone would come knocking on our door
think you can wear that blanket
of ignorance for always, strip off that outer
coat of varnish –
scrub away the tarnished debris
You should have been an actress
encore after encore
with everyone screaming more
more, more – but not me!
In shiny yellow stocking, I held
my step father’s hand
in my shiny yellow stocking I
simply – did – not – understand.
My house is all whitewashed
whiter than chicken bones left drying
in the noon day sun.
I was five –
when they set you to rest
but here, you still live
my overdue resident, of sometime past.
How many things do I need to remember
outside the love of a father and child?
I suffered from no preconceptions
A child never does –
you offered, and I melted like sugar
so all the children can sing, as we let
the sea wash over us.
On the day they buried you
I played – though never in fun.
I felt it was better than crying
less to make those grown ups mad.
Someone stopped to touch my head
they seemed old
so very, very old
I remember thinking
how long you were dead – you would always be you!
never to be that way:
So I smiled –
as I painted my house white…
He tells me, that he has seen heads swiped
clean from their body.
Their aftermath, more naked than the day
that they were born.
I cling to his fragile youthful hands
swabbing the violence from the fragments of his vision.
I found him – fallen here
in this place where you know you are mortal.
The landscape no longer distinct, outside the rutted roads
now strewn with the bone remains of shrunken men.
He will have had so many expectations –
Roads to travel – girls to fill his head with lustful dreams.
What now in this shrinking of his closing pain.
What I said about this was much less, than I saw
as I took my unhappiness, and headed up the hill…
Spirals of glistening shade, recline serenely dappled
in their morning wraith-like haze.
Amid your twisted sinews, I am most graciously calmed
while pristine elaborate skies; ground
my oath, steadfastly to you
Kissed in passing by all manner of such gracile splendour
flower heads sweeping stately, in their lightness of touch.
Reflecting deep –
of the imagery that scurries the waters edge
asking of no permission, to stand still this day
draped in adult perfection – floating on a child’s eye;
of far flung surrealist imagination.
You came home –
just as I knew you would
so shall we light the hill side beacons
burning to rid your mangled dreams traded with some stranger
who troubled you with the political line of their treachery.
I could have managed well, without
the sound of the postman’s gravitas sharp steel toed
foot fall displacing the gravel as he called.
I waited for you to ask
before ripping apart the walls of ingratitude’s seditious slander
slopping out the barrack rooms arrogance of pride
and yet you never did!
How repulsively uneven the mud flats of our existence dwell
they have no feeling no depth of remembrance
spreading a malignancy goring away
on the good man’s infatuation of incorruptibility.
Yes you fought – yet ask me not for reasons clothed in your bravery
for all I can counter shall be