Sunday, 13 October 2013

Waking to Grief

This stage I'm on cannot be mine
This is the script I never read
Each line a cascade fall of tears
Each verse a meld of others grief.

We wake within his hermit shell
Dusty with a life's veneer
Laid down in finest random parts
Built up lacquer layered deep.

We all need space to best remember
But also nest our shared support
In this firework box emotions
Spark ignite each other’s wicks.

Grief firebreaks are hard to dig
Cold calculated callous lines
Through vibrant memories
That hang

On every wall,
On every shelf,
On every peg.

We take the truth and justify
Twist fact with supposition hope
Attempt to blunt the razor edge
That cleaves right through our densest core

What we are.
Where we came from
Where we go.

Baled up in our now greatest loss
That we have seen in others eyes
Yet not believed a hurt so deep
Could tear our own soul so complete.

Nowhere to run.
Those arms
That would have us embraced
Are the ones with warmth no more

But with it, strengthen limbs
Thought fresh green weak
Supporting sideways to replace
The old ones lost above.

It's not our end we fear in tear.
It's times of youthful comfort lost
But our memories are unchanged.
They are today as they were before.

Weep not for those departed
But those they leave behind.
And so, my children, I dread must
Bestow your innocence with grief.

Friday, 21 June 2013

Dinner Party Hell

Dinner Party Hell


Friday fridge, angst shopping lists
Deadlines drawn, must not be missed
Tesco treats, teased from tomes
Of Nigella's books cloned from Sloanes.

Normal needs meld with new
Tasks drawn up. Stocks steamed for stew.
Then all locked down, half day's chore.
Yet morning's light will yield much more.

Clean the house and dust the cat
And make things shine and do things that
The men don't see, but girl guests do,
The flowered hall, the downstairs loo.

Then war breaks out, the battle line
Of pans and mixers, plans define.
The chaos mix of stripped out packs
Spilled or lost, order lacks.

But hours spent in hot held heat
As timers chime the rushed off feet
Yields a calm from entropy.
Creations dished for all to see.

Then smiles. "Darling! Welcome please"
Spic-span house with hostess cheese.
"No it was nothing, do sit down"
All pleasantries through hidden frown.

Modal change, waitress skills
Handle dishes with all the frills.
Yet maintain a steady stream
Of idle chat, ideal hostess seem.

"The children? Oh, they've done that well?
Your house? It's worth? Oh please do tell! "
When deep deep down you pray for luck
To tell them you don't give a #.

Eleven strikes, dessert's all gone.
At last you're free to wine and song
To talk at will, break hostess bond.
But no "It's late, we must be gone"

Just left the choice to clear up now
Or wait for morn and brave a row?
Either way, you've done your most
And know your precious Sunday's toast.


Polemic Paine - June 7th