I wish

I wish

that I were young again;

that Time,

who has stamped

crass etchings on my face,

were once again a friend,

as on those summer afternoons

where sunshine pooled

across your belly

and berries thickened

on the raspberry canes.

I wish

that when we followed

those bluebell paths

they had never ended

and that we were still

upon them now

negotiating touch

and kiss

and loss.

But there was

no recognition

in those times

that these times

would be

but the worn lining

of my empty purse

where coin edges have

burned the fabric;

where mites of dust

have gathered

in muffling silence.

Sleep

crumbs

the corners

of my eyes.

Thaw

There is an icing
on the window

after this last night

cold has bitten pits into the railings

and frozen 

animal tears 

in the sockets of eyes.

I would paint the sun rise

from here

contemplating distances
in hours

measuring dividing miles 

in sighs.

But you could
colour a new colour,

for I am tired

of these greys and blacks

that I have found of late.

You could bring
a new palette

and refresh my water jar
that I might clean my brushes.

With swift determined strokes
upon the vellum sheet
I would flake the cyan sky
above your head
and the dust dry land
beneath your feet
for

I perceive

the brightness
of a Southern sun

in your hair.

Sound me a new sound

For I am weary of my groans

and moans.

Whisper me secrets

that will tease 
this dwindled flame

into life again

for it has grown lethargic

in this customary dark.

I would crack the hoarfrost

that encrusts my beard.

Observations and Tips in relation to Nutrition during the later years.

Observation 1:

As age increases flexibility of joints decreases.

If joint pain is experienced, a daily supplement of fish oil is recommended.

This may be readily purchased in the form of capsules to avoid unpleasant, fishy flavours (although there is inevitably some aftertaste.)

Fish oil capsules should be taken once or twice a day with food and may also be found beneficial for the memory.

Observation 2:

The importance of a good breakfast cannot be stressed enough. It is the first meal of the day and should not be overlooked.

If working a shift pattern that requires you to start at an unearthly hour in the morning, it is recommended that a sugar-free, slow-release breakfast, such as muesli, is carried to work in a suitable container. This may then be consumed at the appropriate break during the shift. Both complex carbohydrates, such as oats and other grains, and proteins and ‘brown’ fats, such as those contained in nuts, are ideal foods for this purpose. Dried fruit in addition will allow a more instant energy release.

Tip 1:

Place sugar-free, slow-release muesli in a tub such as an empty ice-cream container, to take as mid-shift sustenance.

Tip 2:

Remember to take a fish oil capsule with you when you set off to work.

Place it in a safe place and somewhere where you will come across it easily when preparing to eat your breakfast. Remember fish oil capsules must be taken with food. (See Observation 1 above.)

For example...

Tip 3:

Place fish oil capsule in ice cream container also, so that it is readily available when the muesli is to be consumed.

Tip 4:

On cold mornings, at mid-shift break when ready to consume breakfast, place ice cream tub containing sugar-free, slow-release muesli and milk of your choice (cow, soya or nut) in the microwave (available in the staff kitchen) on low power for one minute to slightly warm contents.

Observation 3:

The flavour of sugar-free, slow-release muesli with milk of your choice (cow, soya or nut) is not improved by the addition of fish oil.

Tip 5:

Remember to REMOVE fish oil capsule from ice-cream container BEFORE placing in microwave.

Portrait of a Widowed Poet

For this photo

you slide left hand 

around left cheek

incline head

so that hand

appears to be preventing head

from floating off -

restrained, contained:

hand sculpts face

with things once felt

distant memories

childhood toothache.

Contrived thus, at dead centre of frame,

your wedding band sings below its knuckle

to show that you are buckled up tight

against others’ eyes.

But he who slid gold

onto your burning finger has dropped

and is buried now

under some slab of Wales

which may explain the delicate shade of grey

your eyes reflect.

What wild Welsh walks

were taken by you two

after sleepy morning sex?

His gentle genitals fit so snug.

You slipped like rain around each other’s necks;

fed one upon the other’s subtle breath;

raked nails on backs;

tattooed your bloody yearnings

into each other’s skins;

kept each other’s words

as earrings.

But against this solid, black ground -

your parked left elbow

pinning down

some imaginary table

out of frame -

you lean gamely forward,

and are snapped

never to truly breathe again.

chains

There had been a moment

when our fingers touched

as I handed you the plastic cup

of cola from the sticky table

by the wall bars in the gym,

and then

just for a moment

you saw me

as you thanked me.

We swayed side by side

as others talked

relaxing in a subtle gravity

that held us now

each in the other's orbit.

I could not look at you again

but my cheek bones knew then

and grew warm

at the thought of you.

And you had chosen

my finger

and led me through

to the dance floor.

There had been a moment

as we danced

when

you had curled yours

one by one

around mine

and my other hand

had found your waist

and my clumsy toes

your toes.

And you were there

my nose to your hair

my lips to your ear

my arms full of you

as the pale last song

smoothed the evening to its silken end -

how not in love,

oh no,

the singer was.

I talked you home

along the December High Street to The Manse

and we stopped

by the bookshop

because you loved to read

and I told you that I did too,

and maybe there

was something here

displayed

which might have stayed us

out this evening just a moment longer.

As if for reassurance

when we resumed our walk

you lightly linked your hand

around my arm

so that as I lifted mine

towards my heart

I might fix you there.

But at your front door

you turned to face me

in the first of our goodbyes

and at last you met my eyes

and curled into me that

our supple mouths might touch

and with tongue tips

taste each other's

teeth.

You

drew the breath from my lungs

fanned the furnace flames

of my desire

and forged

then

these binding chains

link

by golden link.

swallows

I perhaps should have suspected

as we watched swallows gather

in punctuated groups on high-wire lines

that this would be an end

I noted how they were crotchets on a stave

you rejected the cliché

but at that moment

as if to save me

from an open window a nocturne played

and became the cooling breath

of that September evening

finding its way to an imperfect cadence

classic pianissimo

the music dying

into an uproarious silence

between us

and your attention drifted

to a purple horizon

where the moon was climbing -

a cream minim

floating in ink

my hand found your shoulder

and thoughtless fingers

played the coarse seam

of your cotton white blouse

creeping from soft nape

to the shrug at the joint

I sensed your tension

and the chilling breeze

and now you are no longer here

to empty my thoughts

and I swallow the lyrics I wish I had sung

bees

The Vicarage, Morwenstow - the beautiful house
built for the eccentric Reverend R S Hawker
See also The Wreck of the Caledonia

My siblings and many cousins will no doubt remember our big family holidays in North Cornwall and Devon

and staying at the vicarage in Morwenstow

and the little room called The Eyrie that looked down into the courtyard

and how the bees had built a huge hive in the ceiling

which became so laden with honeycomb that the plaster bulged ominously

and how inevitably it had to go.

For homework from my writing class last week, we were asked to write a piece on "consequences" and we were given a poem TheWasps by David Constantine as inspiration.  This is my response.

we are the bees

(because she is here)

that fizzed in and found her (be-

cause she is here) and we have

been fuming about

the blooms

of this summer

garden (because she is here)

supping colours up from yellow

cowslips and black-ey'd susans

till we are foxglove

dust laden

with sunny set

honey-suckle pollen (because

she is here) and we are thick-covered 

with dusky jasmine warmth with

 carousing courage from

our craving labours

and we have found

the hole between blockstone

and mortar (because she is here)

worn by rain these two hundred

years that leads to the

cavern within

the roof among

the smoky joists above

the plaster and we have stocked our

larder (because she is here) full of

plenty with this season's

sucking and churning

and spittling and

wraggling and you human

can see the bulging pendulous

bagsacks of our great labours

groaning (because

she is here)

combing (because

she is here) in the flaking

ceiling and you come and crack-

make with your bullnose

chisel (because

she is here)

and your mallet

and your shrouded hat

and your tight-cuffed sleeves

and your tarry fumes and you

chop us out drowsy

(because she

is here) in this

evening as this sun's day sets

sizzling into the sailing sea and

yes you hesitate (because she is

here) but still you

burn us up