Category Archives: poetry

Moons of Mountain Ana: Rituals..

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Regardless of content, our most intense moments have a habit of assuming ritual clarity.

Together, the figures our characters cut are colourful, and bright, and amusing;

the wheel-spinning white car which your mother read about in my story, or Roma’s amber earrings, Louise and Paula, uncharacteristically, dressed in black.

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Gemma,

who plays football,

and for whom love… is too painful?

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Did I really say that?

She wants to travel, or that?

‘Me too! ’/ ‘that’s how I drink’/ ‘I do.

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If only it,

and you,

and I

were true!

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Even Sandra

mimicking my mudra,

and Mimi’s mint.

Moons of Mountain Ana: Laburnum…

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With almost perfect symmetry little Josh

wants to take some flowers back to Mum.

*

 He plucks from the two Laburnum

grown together over a garden gate;

harmonious estate,

or the strain of embrace,

stretching… to cleave ?

The scent from the cups is intoxicating,

and yellow… Becky’s colour…

 *

O’ my tyger tree,

 your blossom

 will spread that smile

over lips which profess to disdain flowers.

 *

…On the way back Josh has an idea: he wants to visit his Dad.

 

Moons of Mountain Ana: Sulk…

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Becky’s sulk face is adamant with indignation.

If she only knew how perilous it is to neglect the young.

*

…Our roles are reversed for the tale

of mum and dad and a kitchen knife,

which Fiona tells in sobs on the stairway.

 *

Something I said has recalled her

feather streaked cheeks of pain.

 *

She laughs

and we go on up

to talk about

a tennis ball

turned inside out…

 *

Becky speaks quietly

but her quiet voice banishes

distance like a shout,

“Josh, come back inside.”

 *

Is this redemption, or merely the wisdom

of being old enough to know better?

Forever Falls…

rs-262*

I was here

When Ronald took the hot seat.

I watched from afar,

Appalled,

When he called

Diana, David

And stumbled over lines which in

His day of hay

He would have chewed like baccy.

*

His image truly spat…

A vacation brain

Which sunned itself

In shades,

While military aides

Loaded up

A flip top cranium

With pencil tipped

Uranium.

*

This man’s unsuitability,

Was scary…

The political situation

Much worse than hairy,

The fear of being nuked

Had become real enough

To make grown men puke,

But in our hour of need

Came scions after another creed.

*

They sang of tribes

That fight for points

And of factions whose only destiny

Was to end as fractions

And followed this up with the power of love

To save us all from the hooded claw

Or so it seemed

To those still watching

From afar.

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So, send them all in…

There have to be clowns.