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.

Singing in the train

If life was music, I could waltz and wail

down this grey aisle, sing out my soul and pain.

 

Tap dance on grubby tables, strewn with snacks,

swing high from dusty, laden luggage racks.

 

Vault prickly, itchy, threadbare railway seats,

terrify little children scoffing sweets.

 

Take hold the hands of a dark, handsome man,

share duets, fall in mad love, make some plans.

 

My fellow passengers in quick time clap,

The guard skips along, whistling, his feet rap.

 

‘Tickets!’, his hole punch plays like castanets,

as we rumble on through worldly regrets.

Keep it under wraps

Wake to a foreign land,

heavily silent.

The earth keeps

secrets smothered

under cold, crisp layers.

 

Blanketing, blizzard

buries all.

 

Not a babbling bird

tells its tale,

nor murmuring mammal

speaks its story.

 

Whispering world of

words unsaid.

 

Our past is

entombed deep.

Truth suffocates us

beneath a

pure, white face.

 

 

Paradise Lost

The radio told me

as I buttered toast,

There is no paradise now.

Beautiful beaches are

wrecked on Bali’s coast.

 

Under a fresh blue sky,

no shores lie pristine.

There is no paradise now.

The salty sea’s cold tongue

cannot lick them clean.

 

Waves spit dirty rubbish

on damp silver sands.

There is no paradise now.

Only rainbow vomit

formed by human hands.

 

On shopping bag jellyfish,

turtles choke and die.

There is no paradise now.

We cannot close our eyes;

pretend, ignore, lie.

 

Marine creatures swim in

our colourful spew.

There is no paradise now.

No putting the world right

or making it new.

 

Those dreams of romantic

escapes are all dead.

There is no paradise now.

We made a wasteland; must

face ruin instead.

 

 

Sometimes the news creates a feeling of hopelessness in me. This story did just that. Since David Attenborough’s Blue Planet, awareness is growing and people are starting to act but is it a case of too little, too late? How do we change attitudes on such an enormous scale?

(Picture: AFPG/Getty Images Newsround BBC)

 

If

I have never taken part in a blog challenge before, and never thought that I would, but A Frank Angle sent me a very polite, personal invitation and I thought this poem was appropriate. Thanks for the invite Frank.

 

If

If we could open ourselves for exploration,

to read and decipher like a map,

a foreign country to discover.

Then you might place your feet on fresh soil

and I might walk new pathways.

For a while, travel a road together,

reach a place we recognize.

 

 

Read more answers to the If Challenge in the comments on Frank’s post. Perhaps you’d like to have a go at the challenge too? Details are here.

 

Four lads go out for the day

Another poem using material gathered on my recent train journey.

 

Four lads go out for the day

 

Posing, strutting,

rubbing crotches

along the seat.

Shouting, braying

billy goats on heat.

 

Throw our cans,

crunch of tin,

on the luggage rack.

Furtive, frightened glances,

give ‘em a smile and wink back.

 

I’m a big man now.

Did anyone see?

Only me mam would

be ashamed of me.

 

A boyo’s day out,

rampage in the city.

Shake our tails,

feathers wide.

Don’t we look pretty?

 

Throw our wrappers,

plastic rustle,

on the dusty floor.

Tutted annoyance meets

with snorted guffaw.

 

I’m Jack the lad.

Look at me ‘ere.

Only me dad would

clout me ‘round the ear.

 

Attracting attention,

standing out

from the rest.

Silver-backed apes

beating our chests.

 

Throw a quick f-word,

sharply crude,

in the stuffy air.

Young kids in the next seat

but we don’t care.

 

I’m a foolish child.

Hear me loud.

Only me parents would

be so proud.

 

 

‘Tis better to have loved…

“’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Alfred Lord Tennyson, in his poem In Memoriam A.H.H, spoke from the heart about the loss of his friend and the grief he felt.

On Boxing Day, we had a car accident in a surprise snowfall. My husband lost control, despite driving at a sensible speed for the inclement weather, and the car skidded. As we danced a graceful pirouette, a full 360 degrees across to the opposite side of the country lane, time seemed to elongate. I watched in horror, completely powerless; thoughts of dread that my son or daughter might be injured or killed filled my mind. “It’s all right…Hold on everyone!” I said aimlessly. I braced myself against the seat as the car returned to the correct side of the road and landed with a gentle bump against a fence post. When we stopped, the relief that everyone had escaped without harm was immense. Walking the three miles home through freezing sleet, feet slopping and slipping on the wet snow, I felt protective of my two children and husband. I led the way, torch in hand, fussing about our insufficient coats and footwear. I needed to regain some sense of control. It felt as if I had nearly lost everything that mattered to me, everything that I loved, and that shook me far more than the accident.

When I was a child, I had a recurring nightmare. I stood watching as my parents and brother descended an escalator straight into a sheet of plate glass. Every time I had this dream, I would awake crying and shaking, believing that it had happened. I was alone; I had lost everything. Since having my children, I regularly experience anxious dreams. A multitude of horrible images where they have been maimed or killed in all number of horrific incidents. When they were babies, I would imagine falling down the stairs with them in my arms. These nightmares leave me feeling drained and afraid. There is nothing I can do. I have opened myself up to this vulnerability; I have no control over what may (or may not) happen to my children. I love them and this involves the risk of getting hurt.

A few days ago, my lovely old dog had a funny turn. My husband and I returned home from searching for a replacement car and he ran excitedly to greet us, then collapsed trembling and letting out a long stream of urine over the carpet.  As we bent down to help him, he looked up at us with confused, frightened eyes and we both burst into tears. We thought it was the end for him. He is nearly sixteen; his weak heart makes him pant continuously and he stands on shaky legs, often falling over. Miraculously, it was not the end and he recovered, carrying on much the same as before. I realize this cannot continue forever, of course. Every day, week, month spent with him is a bonus.  Soon, we will have to face the heartache of losing him. We made the decision to get a dog; to let him become part of our family. We allowed ourselves to love him and must suffer the pain that is to come.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why choose to have partners and children and bring pets into our homes? Why do we allow ourselves to love when we know it will mean pain and loss at some point? Would it be better to protect ourselves from this pain; to avoid love?

Quite simply, to love is to live. Life is about having relationships with others; to make connections. I have had many moments of fun and laughter with my dog. My children have enriched my life and made it more worthwhile. If we do not allow ourselves to love through the fear of being hurt, then we do not truly live our lives. Having relationships and loving others helps us to grow and learn. It gives us meaning and purpose. There will be times when it brings us pain and loss, but living a life alone and afraid would be unbearable. Life is difficult, we must share it with others – family, friends, neighbours, pets.

I have found somebody who explains it more eloquently than I am able:

“Every time we make the decision to love someone, we open ourselves to great suffering, because those we most love cause us not only great joy but also great pain. The greatest pain comes from leaving. When the child leaves home, when the husband or wife leaves for a long period of time or for good, when the beloved friend departs to another country or dies … the pain of the leaving can tear us apart.
Still, if we want to avoid the suffering of leaving, we will never experience the joy of loving. And love is stronger than fear, life stronger than death, hope stronger than despair. We have to trust that the risk of loving is always worth taking.”    Henri J M Nouwen

Going down Cardiff for the rugby

Train journeys always provide inspiration for writers as we get to spend time with a bunch of colourful, interesting characters. We can be observers and eavesdroppers; imagining where and why the other passengers are travelling and creating stories for them. I love sitting with my notebook, listening, watching and scribbling. It helps the journey pass quickly too. I am thankful to my fellow travellers for sharing with me such gems.

Here is a poem based on a conversation overheard on a recent train journey (it would have been impossible not to hear it!). It brightened up my trip and made me giggle. Ideally, it needs to be read in a Swansea accent. Warning: it’s a little bit naughty!

 

Goin’ down Cardiff for the rugby and Linda’s 40th.

Got the T-shirts printed,

lookin’ good girls!

C’mon girls, find a seat, find a seat!

One ‘ere, one ’ere,

one by ’ere, next to me!

Open up them jelly shots, girls.

Get ‘em down yoo!

Have a drink.

Have a jelly shot.

Have a drink, girls!

Oh my God…we got a celeb ‘ere.

Gethin, he is.

We got a celeb ‘ere, girls!

Eastenders!

Quick girls, get down there…

Selfie, selfie.

Get a good’un

for Facebook like.

Don’t mind, do yoo?

He don’t mind.

Gethin he is.

Eastenders!

The teacher, he is…

Do your nails, girls.

Stick ‘em on,

stick ‘em on.

Did mine last night, mind.

Bet they’ll fall off.

‘Ow much make-up yoo got in there?

Good God!

Where yoo sleepin’ tonight?

Top ‘n tailin’ in the

same room.

Share with me,

share with me.

Mind, yoo don’t know what I got in

this ‘ere bag!

Vvvvrrrmmm –

yoo know what I mean!

No, not really like…

left it at home, didn’t I?

Don’t use one, do I?

Don’t need one.

Lucky yoo!

I got a couple of

cucumbers though.

A big one for yoo,

this long!

Come and sit up by us, Gethin.

Oh, c’mon, have a drink.

Have a jelly shot!

Have yoo put that

selfie on Facebook?

With Gethin, selfie with Gethin.

Send it me, send it me!

Gethin, sit by me ‘ere.

Sit by me.

Squish up girls,

gettin’ crowded in ‘ere.

The rugby, see.

Ooh! Squish up!

There’s nice.

Gethin, c’mon, squish up by ’ere love!

Have another jelly shot, girls!

We’ll be fallin’ asleep in the rugby.

God, I need a fag.

Not long now,

not long now, girls.

Them shots it is.

Soon as I have a drink,

I need a fag.

Gettin’ warm in ‘ere, mind.

I’ll be strippin’ off next.

Gethin, I’ll be strippin’ off love.

C’mon girls, have a jelly shot.

Cool us down, like.

Have a cocktail.

I got ‘em, in a tin, like.

Cocktail in a tin.

What in a tin?

No, not a cock in a tin!

Cocktail in a tin.

Better than tinned cock!

Gethin, come by ‘ere.

Have a cocktail, Gethin.

Want a pringle?

Want a pringle, love?

No, a pringle!

I’m starvin’! Should have

made sarnies…

We’ll fill up on cocktails, girls!

My fortieth, right, I’m

doin’ a party.

Butlins.

Brilliant.

That’s class.

I’m havin’ karaoke,

limousine, bubble disco.

That’s a date, that is.

Class.

Date that is, girls!

Gethin, come by ‘ere…

You’ll come to my fortieth, won’t you love?

Butlins, Gethin.

Class.

He’s from Eastenders, he is.

Got a selfie on Facebook.

A celeb.

Are we ‘ere?

Oh my God, I need a wee.

Desperate I am, girls.

Lookin’ forward to this, I am!

I’m free!

No kids.

I don’t get out much, see.