dreamcatcher (he will add)

Dreamcatcher,
rise from dysfunction,
inherit your name,
from out of a pit.
As wits are lifted
dreamer, capture
a fresh night-vision,
glory from darkness,
a rapid high movement,
frequency tuned
to sights unseen.

The Glory of Wood

deadwood:
chopped and carved down
roughened up,
no sign of sanding,
brought together:
larger, smaller
planks positioned
in a joust to join in joists
at right angles,
to passing angels,
be
hammered to the soil
through hardened Roman hands.

on a driftwood tree,
you died,
(two thousand times since round the sun
the epicentre circles from a growing oak still ripple)
your fallen branches,
stained and etched in blood,
you hung for me,
i live to tell the tale.





Posted for dverse: Poetics-On the Other Hand

Photo: Jim Rants

Rucksack...

The mountain is steep, a gradient that relies fully on gravity to keep you upright. The air is thin and the panting in your mouth doesn't reveal fully the pumping going on in your chest. Your back is breaking. All you think you need to carry is on there, like a treasured curse.

The muscles in your legs are splintering.  Each step sends a burning sensation up your calves like a blow-torch being fired from your heels. That canvas corpse on your back is balancing you, but only because you've readjusted your body to accomodate it. To live with the dragging pain of all that you're heaving uphill with you. It's somehow become part of you, and it's almost like you need it now. 

And now, when I'm trying to say, let me carry it for a while, you're looking at me as if I'm a little unstable myself...

...Put your hand on the shoulder strap and slip your arm out. I know...it's not as easy as it should be. There are things inside that rucksack that are the very essence of who you've become. Still, try to prise it off your back. And now the other arm...

Take a step without those kilogrammes wrenching you backwards. Feel the difference. Your legs are lighter. You begin to catch your breath again.

Start to enjoy the view as you climb. Don't fret. Keep walking. You'll get to the top. When you arrive, you'll know that it'll have been worth the hard yards.

As for your rucksack, when I give you it back at the top, it won't feel the same. I'll be rearranging a few things in there. I've packed and re-packed a few of these things in my time. I've got a way of making it more manageable. Trust me...

homogenous

nineteen eighty-four has come
and gone,
and now
we're going
to stick like you,
together in one shout,
renew
our oaths
in tweets and snaps,
become
unique in all our latest apps.

faces,
smeared in
lipstick traces:
lines of listless
scared so witless,
children,
shifting, guiltless,
all accepting,
all rejecting,
crying
to be liked and
noticed.

no big brother
necessary
as we'll watch ourselves
to death tonight
and let our hearts be troubled
all together,
in one voice
unite.
   

Two Tunnels (a short story)

Hypnotic green fields were clicking past, wrestling down my eyelids all the while, when a small boy pushed open the doors of my private compartment and slipped through.

His light brown curls were the first thing I noticed. One of those hairstyles the kids who appear in modelling catalogues have. Shiny, bouncy curls that move to their own rhythm.

He sat down opposite me.

When he smiled his eyes opened fully and his thin lips parted. They revealed bright white teeth with one small gap on the bottom row. I couldn't help but smile back. This little guy had warmed the day up with some simple muscle movements.

I went through the usual. His name? Where he came from? Where his parents were?

Turns out he was lost. His parents had been on their way to the dining car with him, just as they'd reached the last station. There had been quite an influx of passengers both exiting and entering and he'd got separated from them. Now he wasn't sure where they were or where he was, in relation to them. He didn't seem upset though...

I said I'd help.

I was actually quite pleased to have something to do. I'd been on the verge of drifting off into dreamland, but there's always something slightly unnerving about sleeping on a train. The snaking movements of the carriage across the track, the disconcerting motion sickness feeling of watching the overhead lines just as you drop off, and of course, the possibility of oversleeping and missing your station...

I got up and offered a hand to the little guy. He must have been about seven.  He slipped his hand into mine and I opened the sliding doors which led us into the long corridor. We wobbled slightly with the movement of the express and I put my hand out against the door frame to steady us. 

I saw the sign for the dining car and headed in that direction, pulling my new friend like a rag doll behind me...

When we slid into the tunnel all went dark...

And I was losing my balance. I felt the small hand slip from mine as we both toppled towards the nearest compartment. In we fell, just as sunlight cracked through the window, like a champagne bottle opening.

I held my hand up to my eyes... 

The little guy was, first, in front of me, and then, scrambling to his feet, was behind my back, heading into the corridor. I glanced at his troubled angel face.

Then came the voice.

"Come here Isolot". And again, "Isolot, is that you? Come back..."

It was coming from the floor. He had been alone in the small, wooden compartment. A hypodermic needle lay beside him. His bruised veins lay bare against the velvet seating, but he was rousing himself. His rolling eyes, lurching under a mass of curls, suddenly resumed their interest in the present.

I knew the man's face. As sure as day, it was the same one that belonged to the little boy, now heading down the corridor.

I pulled myself to my feet and squeezed through the compartment doors, shutting them in his face as I ran.

He followed. Swearing. Scrambling. Running.

I caught up to Isolot and dragged him on.

We reached the doors that led to the dining car and went inside.

The faces were staring as we rushed through. High teas, top hats, cravats and summer dresses. Startled female cries and "tut tuts" from bearded penguins in tails. There was a second wave of disquiet as the door slammed again. He panted in as we reached the far end of the car. An urn of boiling water sat behind the bar and in its reflection I glanced the frightened faces.

The boy was pulling my arm, trying to say something to me, but I was only interested in leading him away from danger.

It was only when another voice cried "Isolot" that I stopped. We all did.

The little guy shouted "Dad" and ran. He was swept up into safe arms in the middle of the car. Behind them the chasing man had  broken his stride but not his stare. His frown lines creased as the train sunk into the darkness of another tunnel.

In the black, the mesmerising clickety clack held us in a trance for what seemed like thirty seconds.

When I looked again, the boy and his father had disappeared from sight. The man-who-was-the-boy, was pulling at his rolled-up sleeves and heading for the same carriage door he had entered by.

Spoons were once more clanking against tea-cups and polite conversations were being struck up throughout the dining car. Eyes were being averted.

I made my way back to the compartment and resumed staring at fields again. Later, as I alighted at Windsmouth, I was still thinking about that little guy, but I never saw him, or the man-who-was-him, again.



  

 

Daze of Christmas (Day 12): Highlights 2013.

White lights blink messages of cheer through slivers of curtains all the way up our street. Darkness lives on outside, but his life is shortening day by day.

Christmas is shortening too. The strange world we inhabit for a few weeks every year will soon be over.

Before I sign off these "Daze of Christmas," I'd like to offer some of my highlights from this year (in no particular order) as a way of remembering the past few weeks:


1) A family nativity making day earlier in December.  We spent a few hours with our extended family and this was the result:

-

2) A Christmas day cycle in the rain!

3) The big issue seller moment.

4) "Attempting" a 1000 piece Christmas jigsaw.

5) A trip to see the film "Frozen" on Christmas Eve. (Olaf the snowman is a hero and legend!)

6) A trip to church on Christmas Day; everyone batting balloons around the hall as part of the service.

7) Seeing lots of family over the holidays.

8) Making a lego helicopter (with my son).

9) Listening to some great Christmas music.

10) Reading my daughter's book "The Guinness Book of Records 2014".


So, with Christmas almost over, what were your best bits?

Finally, thanks for joining me on the Daze of Christmas trip. I hope to catch up with many of you in cyberspace or in real life in the new year.

May God bless you and yours in 2014.

Daze of Christmas (Day 11): Christmas Eve or Boxing Day?

A while back at work, a few of us asked ourselves the either/or question of whether we preferred Christmas Eve or Boxing Day? I'm not sure what that question suggests about Christmas Day itself, but as I recall, it was a pretty even split with about half preferring the day before and half preferring the day after.

I suppose the choice is between the frenetic anticipation of last-minute preparations for the big day and the feeling of it all having come and gone. How you spend both days might vary at different points in your life too.

Our Christmas Eve evening this year was spent with the kids at the cinema seeing "Frozen". There was an element of magic about the whole trip and real excitement on the drive back home for the final sleep before the big day. Today (Boxing Day) has been less frenetic than the past two days but I fitted in a cycle with my son this morning and a whole family walk around a loch this afternoon. Tiredness is definitely setting in now!

So, what do you think? Christmas Eve or Boxing Day? Which do you prefer and why and how did you spend either or both this year?

Daze of Christmas (Day 10): Shopping on Christmas Eve.

Slowly scanning the glittery shelves, Arnold tried to hide the disappointment in his face. The aroma of perfumes mingled and caught on his throat as a fresh-faced girl of around eighteen approached him.


"Can I help you sir?" she chimed, her head moving in rhythm to her dangling Rudolph earrings.

Arnold spluttered into his white handkerchief but quickly let the twinkle return to to his eyes.

"I was looking for the perfect gift. For someone special. But I think you're all out of her favourite. It's Anais Anais, I was searching for."

"I'm sorry sir. We haven't been able to stock that recently. You could try Boots?"

"Thanks I'll do that," said Arnold.

As Arnold trudged back into the mall, the sound of Jona Lewie was being piped out of a clothing boutique. Arnold imagined himself shuffling along, like in his days of National Service. The Salvation Army brass band outside WH Smiths took up the refrain. Arnold stopped to listen and threw a few coins into the bucket when he moved on.

Nearby, the queue to visit Father Christmas wasn't as large as one would expect on Christmas Eve. Arnold guessed that people had been put off by the snow. Still, the shops were bulging with folk looking, like him, for last minute gifts.  

Reaching Boots, Arnold loosened his tartan tie a little and unbuttoned his top shirt button. It was warm inside; the contrast even more striking because of the bitter cold outside. He'd taken off his overcoat in Debenhams and it was now draped over his arm like a wine waiter's towel. 

Arnold approached the counters and scanned for Mildred's perfume. In his head he tried to recall the many occasions when he'd done the same in the years gone by.

Then he saw it. On the top shelf. A gift-wrapped box set, complete with matching hand cream. It was the perfect gift.

He parted with the crisp £50 note and wished the assistant a merry christmas.

As he wandered out of the store Arnold struggled to push his tweed jacketed arms into the overcoat. Placing the bag on a bench, he wrestled himself into it, till finally he was ready for heading outside.

Out through the revolving doors, Arnold battled against the wind, his boots crunching through the freshly-fallen carpet of snow. In his right hand he gripped the bag and the knowledge of his purchase raised his spirits once more.

Reaching his street, Arnold was suddenly aware of all the brightly-lit windows. A curtain was being drawn in one as he passed. A "Santa Stop Here" sign stood on the front lawn of the next. At number fourteen, they had, as usual, gone for the works: white lights on every bush, a multi-coloured  rope-ladder leading Santa up the wall to his destination and the small brightly lit animals on the lawn seeming eerily quiet in spite of the wind.

Arnold moved slowly up his garden path. In the darkness, he fumbled for his keys. The door creaked open and he battled the wind to shut it quickly behind him.

The house was steeped in darkness. Arnold placed his finger on the light switch.

He slumped into his armchair by the fire and slid his fingers under the gift wrap. Clutching the glass bottle, he sprayed the perfume all around him...

For just a brief second, she was there in the room with him again. 




 

Daze of Christmas (Day 9): your gift..

christmas stalks around:
your present is to live and
grab the chance to give.

Daze of Christmas (Day 8): December tanka

blustery dusk sends
whistling, swooping, gusting birds
on freshening wings;
            eddies swirl and nestle down
bleak sleeping ground is waking.    




for: imaginary garden with real toads
shared at: poets united

Daze of Christmas (Day 7): Newborn baby

I saw them sitting in the foyer and walked over. Jodie smiled as she always had when she was in my class this time last year. Declan's response was more muted but he nodded in my direction. His way of saying hello.

The boy was signing off from school today. He had turned 16.

His baby, in a cosy blue sleep-suit, looked content in his mother's arms, as he sucked his milk from the plastic bottle.

Framed behind their seat was the school's little nativity scene and its juxtaposition with the little family before my eyes was so striking and obvious, that even I noticed it.

"What you going to do after leaving school," I asked Declan.
"Dunno. Nothing I guess..."

What struck me was Jodie's serenity as she held her little boy. In spite of having her life turned upside down, she seemed as content as the nursing child.

Even so, the last time I saw both of them, they were just kids.

Now they're thrust into the world of parenthood with all its ups and downs... 

Again I thought of  Mary and Joseph, these immortalised superheroes of great faith.

Just kids.

And I thought, to trust the Christ-child with kids is surely the most amazing act of Christmas.