DIY

Get a grip.jpg

 

I spend my time engaged

on Home Improvements

it’s tiring work this self absorption

incessant, monotonous and repetitive

and if I’m honest, for all the huff and puff

I’ve botched it

I am not polished or buffed

or what my son would call ‘hench’

I’m grey and lined and display all the hallmarks

that come with age

Will this disappointment  turn eventually to fear?

I am rust on the smooth haft of a padlock

it’s sheen a parody of atomic numbers

that emit pulses – half lives – I’ll take them

let me glow

I just need a minute to be myself

I’ll put down those spanners and that wrench

I’ll be less morbid

I’ll sparkle

just before

I put all the tools away

Longing

Chess Mates. I have this sense of impending doom.

 

day by day

the long column

of little steps

ascends, as if

 

no greater power could command

nor small urge arrest

the strident pattern

of controlled desire

 

while sleep conceals

the gnawing pang

daylight reveals the currents

that play with a pain

 

no two thoughts can unwind

without a third that questions

sweet reason

with a sneer

 

and so we live in danger

here and now

and cite past treason

to re-affirm weakness, as if

 

derision was the message

on a welcome mat

as we attempt

to douse the fire

 

and put quiet to bed

the questions

that linger in the threads

and fabric of scented pillows

 

 

so,  sleep well with demons

children please

your softly moulded bodies lay limp

without due diligence

 

as those dreams fade

mutate

and pass into a troubled, yet

forgotten history

162

162

 

The red door pulses

as it might

for I lived there once

it stands there still

without my sense of torn loyalty

happy in it’s one eyed way

to let all-comers in

the mail, knocks and endearments

not at all sensitive to my loss

my memories  locked in the carapace

of a life slipping away

 

You felt my brush strokes

the lick of paint rising to blood red.

it was visceral. you knew me

yet now

you stand guard

like some impartial sentinel and forget

that we have shared memories

yes, memories

of how I used a plane to ease your swelling mass

when the wet weather got to you

and how you witnessed my brother Mark and I

walk out on the day of my mother’s burial

and back for a desultory wake

so now it bothers me

that you

never really knew my knock