Years ago

My husband and I started dating in 1991. We’ve recently celebrated our Silver Wedding Anniversary – that’s a long time together and a long time married. Like any married couple, we’ve had our ups and downs. It takes work to have a successful relationship, and some days it’s hard to put the effort in, but we’re doing all right. We both agree that we’re happy. Here’s a poem I wrote a while back about long-term partnerships.

 

Years ago, you knocked on my door.

I put the chain across,

opened it a slit and

looked you over.

Then I

let you in.

For a drink, a chat.

 

But you

hung up your coat,

took off your shoes,

put your

feet under the table.

 

Sometimes we danced in the living room

giggling until we

fell in dizzy heaps.

Sometimes we sat reading

separate novels,

lost in

distant worlds.

Other times we fought,

brutal bloody battles,

no one could win.

 

Sometimes we shared a meal

together, diced sliced,

laughed over a glass of wine,

candles twinkling.

Sometimes we were tired, got take away,

couldn’t be

bothered with the effort.

Other times we ate apart,

solitary below the

cold kitchen light.

 

Sometimes we snuggled

beneath the duvet,

late lazy lay-ins,

close, so we were

touching.

Sometimes we gave a

peck on the cheek, rolled over,

started snoring.

Other times we slept alone,

chilly with a blanket, on the

hard floor of the

spare room.

 

But you

made yourself at home.

And I

never moved out.

We’re still here.

 

 

Here

To sit on a World War II gun battery,

crumbling tumble-down shelter to shaggy sheep,

symbol of war, hate and death.

To watch the early summer sun sinking

behind bold distant hills,

spilling fiery colour across clouds.

To listen to the last birdsong of evening,

eerie calls of pheasant hiding in wavy grass,

maniacal cries of horned beasts.

To see that blazing ball of flame

drip amber, pink and gold upon the settled sea.

To experience a moment of peace

removed from this world of madness, fear and sorrow.

Life-affirming minutes;

we exist now, at this time,

we are here.

Song

To bring a tear to someone’s eye, with your voice.

To touch a person, make them cry, with a song.

That must matter, I can’t deny,  it’s power.

Preseli Walk

Trudge breathless up boggy slopes,

squelching puddles pool under rubber heels.

Reach glorious heights of heather,

illuminated blankets in bright sunshine.

Beneath ancient sculpted rock,

rest on tumbled stone touched by pagan hand.

Warm breeze lifting hair from damp skin,

gaze on a patchwork as clouds cast ink blots.

 

 

Son

There he goes, my beautiful son.

Bone china skin, hair afire.

Fragility worn in cool style.

Brief nod at my frantic goodbye.

A pang of love explodes my chest.

Your face on the pillow

Your face on the pillow in early morning light,

touched by sleep’s youthful kiss.

Crow’s feet, which tell of love, laughter, loss,

wiped from the corners of your lids.

And I watch in silence,

afraid to stir and wake you from this contented bliss.

 

And I listen in silence,

afraid to disturb your relaxed breath, leaving your body at ease.

Soon the busy day will shake you awake,

deepen the creases on your brow with worldly concerns.

Your face on the pillow in early morning light,

And I am enveloped in your peace.

My husband’s pet

My husband has decided to keep a pet caterpillar. It is disconcerting to see it sleeping under his nose as we have a conversation. When we kiss, it wriggles and prickles in discomfort. A top lip is not the best home for a caterpillar. One day, it may move on, find an appropriate place to live, crawl under a damp cabbage leaf. Or perhaps it will spin itself a silky cocoon, grow beautiful wings and flutter away.

Awake

Anxious, early hours,

wind throws rain against panes,

breath wrestled from chest,

stomach somersaults while heart quick steps,

mind kicks brain awake,

paces vast halls of thought,

up, down, up, down,

potential failures grow loud,

footsteps pound and rebound,

resounding, echo, echo, echo.

Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside

Look at them laugh and relax on the beach,

paddling toes, digging holes, smooching on sand,

slapping on sun cream, sucking on a peach.

These days are our last, don’t they understand?

 

While filthy litter makes the planet choke,

fleeing children starve under smoking skies,

plastic fills the sea from our greed for coke,

homeless bundles huddle, fear in their eyes.

 

Don’t they know the great time of man has passed?

Or do they make hay while the sun still shines?

The wealth and the excess will never last;

protective lotion layer coating minds.

 

Do they bury worry deep in the sand?

Block ears with the sound of the soothing sea.

Like me, enjoy the small things while they can;

cover eyes with shades so they cannot see.

If I die

This poem was inspired by the childhood prayer, which I always found rather morbid.

 

If I die before I wake, remember happy me,

a song for each occasion, busy bee.

Forget the eyebrows in the air, tut-tut.

Don’t think of the thankless, if only, but…

Remember the time I fell off my chair,

lay on the grass giggling, feet in the air.

Forget harsh words, regrets and sorry tears.

Remember dreams followed, conquering fears.

 

When my soul is taken away to rest,

remember me as my wonderful best.

Don’t think about things I shouldn’t have said.

Remember the cuddles, snuggled in bed.

Forget the many failings I acquired.

Remember wild dancing round the fire.

Know that I wished to be open and true.

And never forget, I died loving you.