These Ribs
posted 4th September 2024
the necessary barricade
all of your excuses are love letters
I tell myself
the kind you burn in the bin because
the words were just sentiment
I find that we could not accept
each other
I find it and it’s hard to accept
much like a real love letter
where the writing’s a bit
hit-and-miss but it’s
the kind of honest that
can’t be read by most of us
we can’t be told
we are average but loved
plain but adored
seen but forgiven
‘just’ but enough
I couldn’t accept it from you
that is what I never accepted
but the brave break in
I have shacked up with you
Animal
Set my sails to the wind of your lake
What will it bring?
You have chanced it with me
Let go of ninety-nine red balloons for the scarlet one
Said goodbye to kin
For this random drop in a billions’ ocean
All on a prayer and a hope
We’ve made a new world
Like Frankensteins
- cause Adam and Eve fell long ago -
And we’re some way along but aware it will be only some
So we each inwardly hope the other is
All that
And really, our best chance is in
Telling one another all this
bruised . broken . bound
astonish me at night
astonish me in the morning
astonish me every time you understand me
be the only part that fits my manhandled frame
always,
astonish me again
the things that hold us are the things that bruise us
Men and Boys
The dog with
the gentian mop
Cropped
like
my blue and green
top
Followed us down the
pot-holed street
It sniffed her butt
Cocked
a hairy leg
and just as swiftly
left
Carrying off the scent
tea for two never comforted so good
I have tinged you with my love . that you may colour me
sternum like a wishbone
my body and your body
could only meet
on neutral ground
and as neither one of us
was willing to commit adultery
my body and your body
could not meet
if you change your mind
if the scales fall from your eyes
if you find you are not married, after all
-come
your body will find a place in mine
my body and your body are temples
my body and your body hold tempests
my body and your body were made for higher things
from the heart to the heart
Village No People
This village doesn't begin a thing
and complete it right then
That's just not who this village is
With its rows of tomatoes that
stud the year's earth
From clement to sodden weather
Like a mayor's regalia,
heavy in the wind tunnel, swinging
The patina of population wears strong and thin
Strong because the number is many
Thin because the commitment is not
The village
This village, has a visitor book and the memory of a handful
of tomato-planting bursts of sunshine
They were who populated her
at her inception
As a result, the tomatoes grow taller than
the non-existent village walls
Can you picture it with me?
So big and red and round
each one and with that chalky-flesh texture
that sits just under the skin
The rotund tree ornaments dominate and
kind of twitch a little in the low wind
Or less a twitch and more a twerk
And sometimes gentler - they bob; when visitors come, they bob
They play on the air just that little
In the long, the lengthened row, on each side, going all the way up
To the village's front door
Where through
a salt spoon has started counting out
It's set on its side
A duster is flapping with fury; dusty, oily and ready to die
There are a few tea pots
No cracks
This village is careful – In slow action, quite thoughtful
It picks a plate-sized seed
from the inside tenderly of its guardian vegetation,
looming in mock authority
Stops short of calling such archangel
Then plants that seed softly to grow
false hope in the furthest row of rows which,
looking now, as village alone does,
widen in lines that NASA can identify
alongside isn't ahead and isn't behind
unshoe me
Not a Nice Valentine
Tightly he wound the flowers up
Kissed her as he held them out
Limply she took them red and white
They lashed and bit and fell about
You hurt me, said she
But I gave you flowers, said he
He did – he gave with animosity
I took them, said she
You dropped them, said he
She did – she took uneagerly
r e p l a c e
Heart Broke
“Pour your heart out,”
Mr Henry said,
and he should know, that fellow.
Time there was when he
did do it: loving first,
and then his heart out.
Knows about it, that poor fellow.
Yes he does,
because he did - you know,
that thing - loved
and then his heart broke.
Poor bloke.
So pour your heart out as
Mr Henry said.
Pour it all out it’s only heart.
And he did and now he’s telling
us all about it
in paisley outfit and fitted fine.
But really, I’ll tell you,
he isn’t fooling me, he isn’t;
he’s patterned and he’s poised now
and Ps and Qs in order
but boy ya
know it’s
hard work
slog work and berserk
when
the people all around you
are asking for the reason
- for it’s not to do with season -
that print is back in fashion
- looking simply smashing! -
and you’re telling them,
“Bespoke! Bespoke!”
but Mr Henry, - the joke,
the joke
of it is that
if it weren't
so sad it
would be funny…
The pattern puts a picture
where there was
a heart
there was.
But poured out.
And the dapper and the
dashing
and the brave and the benign
is the face of Mr Henry
and the why of his
design.
Not for being best or
seeming smart,
but he does it all
for the hole where
his heart
was.
there is space between the ribs . for one who'll bend to fit