Inexplicable

Ungrounded,
caught in the spring recoming.
Above, the thin veils of cloud tear in the broken sun,
wisps of playful cirrus are thermal-dancing.
Laughter of children
is like the sweet chorus of evening birds
who circle us, protective:
their harmony interrupted only
by the caw of a lone crow far away in some less-splendid place.
From the past, these words return;
as a memory of lost friends draws a poignant smile
and shiver in the shade.
We have no box of poetry
but here I hold its contents in my disbelieving hands
and their perfumes intoxicate.

Late train from Central

Catching my short breath,
I climb aboard the late train, contented.
Windows sheathed in track-grime
give the platform lamps a dappled curiosity, rain-streaks autograph
the panes like graffiti.
Posters for theatres
and vacuous novels about honeymoons
provide an unwanted time-setting.

Echoes of urgent calls to dawdling friends
fill the carriage from both ends.
Three whistles.
Doors squeak rubbery shut, a draught squeezes through nonetheless.
The train departs in reverse,
annoying those who chose to face the wrong way.
Unlike previous journeys, the crowd is subdued;
no maniacal laughter or half-remembered shanty.

Over the black Tyne and south.
Fifteen minutes home;
the Durham vista welcoming its returning son.

Heart

Turn away a moment,
allow yourself time,
time to blink air and memories.

Swallow the sour tears
chiselling your raw throat,
breathe deep the burning sigh.

Energy eludes you,
rope-like arms drape,
anchored by clenched reddened fists.

This instant shall pass.
Thunder shall refresh you.
Believe.

High upon a Low

Monday found me high upon a low,
Stuck where all the crazy people go,
Trapped by things I didn't want to know.

Tuesday took me up beyond a high.
Sunshine filled the everlasting sky
And clouds formed into hearts as they rolled by.

Wednesday left me lost within a here,
Voiceless in a dialogue of fear,
Anecdotes bereft and insincere.

Thursday brought me out into a sane,
Blew away the bubbles in my brain,
Taught me I could have it all again.

Friday dressed me down under a blind,
Left my self-expressiveness behind
To wash dark colours from an open mind.

Saturday woke me with a cheery face,
Breakfasted on honesty and grace,
Gave me back the will I had misplaced.

Sunday calmed me with a sweet although,
Left me to enjoy the status quo
Till Monday found me high upon a low.

Recognition

Let me be a something,
Something that I'm not.
Let me have a little taste
Of what I haven't got.

Make me feel significant,
Or relevant at least.
Watch me try my hardest
And show me that you're pleased.

Put aside the failed attempts
And usher in the new.
Offer recognition
For the things that I can do.

Give me space and time to find
My personality.
Let me be a something,
Let that thing be me.

Eleven

My son, one day you will be a man,
Yet you'll always be my boy.
I shall love and support you however I can,
For you are my pride and joy.

Never let anyone put you down
Nor ever a day go by
That leaves you feeling alone;
Just turn to your mother and I.

I trust you to carry the name we share,
Courage and strength it will bring.
Brave men and wise men have done so before
And you are the future King.

My son, you're the fruit of the family tree,
The crown on the family crest.
Whatever you may wish to be,
For us and yourself, be your best.

On the terrace of the Hôtel Belvedere

Sipping arabica,
sweetened with local cane,
she turns toward the searing sun.

Thoughts,
drifting momentarily
upon an icy shiver of the breeze,
clash like the crests of breaking waves:

this paradise and that other place,
where he still lingers,
where he no doubt curses her

and storms about.
There are no storms about here.

She watches the tide ebb,
knowing it will never never never turn again.