Poem of the week - Hello Sarah

The momentous revelations last week about the origins of the big bang and the existence of gravity waves really fired me up; it’s such an exciting time we’re living in scientifically.  And so I found myself one night unable to sleep, turning it all over in my head, and suddenly I felt inspired at 2.am to get out of bed and write this poem, which oddly enough isn’t just about inflation, the big bang and gravity waves, but is also about the creation of my wife, Sarah… whom in case you haven’t guessed, I quite like.

HELLO SARAH

An eye blinks a universe into existence,

The thud of passion sending waves of fear and possibility through the void –

White on black,

Red on white,

Fireworks ripping into the fabric of space-time.

And there,

Right there in the moment of inflation

When time begins to click its idea into substance,

There,

Right there in the centre of a fireball,

In the melding of atoms,

Right there

In the red hot blistering crucible of creation,

There…

There’s a spark,

A fuse that ignites a star,

A star that will one day explode in a blaze of light,

A stardust sparkle of galaxies that holds the essence of you.

Who would have thought that gravity waves could be so creative?

There,

Right there

You stand,

Your eyes shining, so human and frail,

Eyes twinkling with the dust of stars,

Your smile a greeting from the beginning of time,

A smile 13.8 billion years old –

Hello Sarah.

Trapped in the floods.

Struggling a bit financially (what’s new?), so I’ve decided to go back to my caring job and have been doing some shifts at a children’s home out in the sticks I’ve never worked before.  They are mostly boys there, and when the manager explained that they were somewhat challenging I sort of knew what to expect.  Sure enough within half an hour of being there, I was pulling two lads apart as a fight broke out, and throughout the day things were kicking off almost every hour.  But later on I went out with them and another carer and we all played snooker together, and gradually I got to know them, and they me I suppose.  By the end of a long, long day they were laughing and joking and I was showing them some riffs on a guitar one of them had.  Yeah, they’re challenging and boy it was one of the most difficult shifts I had worked for a long time, but essentially these kids are hurting inside, and have been let down by the adults in their lives, so unfortunately we carers sometimes have to take the brunt of their disappointments and anger full on.  I went back to do a double shift this weekend gone, and as the weather turned bad, one of the carers rang in and asked me to do his sleep for him as he would struggle to get in.  The kids were kicking off and it took us ages to get them settled, but eventually I got to bed just before midnight; although they did get us up a few times during the night.  The next morning however, the manager told me I couldn’t go home as it had rained so heavily overnight, the home was completely surrounded by flood water and no other carers could make it in.  Food stocks were also running low and the kids were expecting to be taken to a skate park for the day, so somehow we had to keep them occupied and compensate for the loss of their day out. So I baked cakes with them, played chess, monopoly, guitar, pool, watched as one kid showed of his casting techniques with his fishing rod into the lake that had overnight appeared in the garden, played drama games (mostly Cinderella) with the only girl there, cooked a sort of dinner with the remnants of food I could find in the freezer, and then at the end of the day one of them pelted me with tomatoes and fruit, while another spat full in my face.  It took ages for the floods to recede enough for me to get away, and on the way home I stopped at a garage and bought a bottle of wine!  Strangely I somehow find this work somehow fulfilling… but I think I’ll wait a few days before booking another shift.    

Poem of the week - Mars And The Milky Way

I wrote this poem about a faraway memory of when I used to stay the night together with my family sometimes at my aunt’s house, which was always exciting because my brothers and my sister and I would play mad, dangerous games with my crazy cousins, that sometimes involved jumping off bridges and running along railway tracks, pretending to be cowboys and Indians.  Strangely enough none of us got hurt… well not really hurt.  We were dirt poor, and so when we were bought chocolate it was a real treat.  Even then I was fascinated by the night sky and loved looking at the stars; dreaming probably of one day becoming an astronaut; a tall hope for a Black Country kid on a rough estate, but at that age nothing seemed impossible.  Anyhow, after a day of games and mayhem we’d all be crowded together, three or four in a bed, and on that particular night I just couldn’t get to sleep, so I crept downstairs and discovered my mum and aunt chatting together and scoffing chocolate..!

   

MARS AND THE MILKY WAY

I'm sitting on my mum's lap.

Two, maybe three years old,

The stars are spinning,

The stars are spinning.

I'm at my aunt's house,

My brothers and sister are in bed.

I can't sleep,

I can't sleep -

The red curtains that look like carpets, slake across the window,

But the moon pours in -

I'm awake.

I'm three years old,

I've been jumping off railway bridges,

I've been jumping off railway bridges into straw,

Listening for trains with my ear to the rail, like Indians do -

How old am I?

I'm two, no three - maybe four years old,

I'm sitting on my mum's knee - the telly's off,

The men aren't around,

Perhaps they're up the pub?

The conversation is soft and pink and funny,

I don't understand it.

My mum is eating some chocolate; she gives me a bite -

It's not a Milky Way; it's a Mars Bar,

Something different, more expensive -

Toffee, caramel...

My mum's eyes sparkle with love, like stars in the sky,

My aunt's childish laughter at my surprise makes me smile;

The stars outside, I know,

I know,

I really know

Are big and sparkly, and like big jewellery, sparkly...

Stars - shining.

I'm a kid hugging a mum,

And I don't know if I'm two or three or four,

But I'm eating a Mars Bar and the stars are shining outside,

And my brothers and my sister and my cousins

Are all asleep upstairs,

And I'm eating a Mars Bar with my mum,

And the Milky Way is spinning away, and Mars is big and red,

And Auntie Eileen says "He likes a bit of chocolate!”

And I take another bite of a Mars Bar, looking at my mum,

Who smiles back like the moon.

Poem of the week - Signing Love

This poem is from my Tango Apocalypso collection.  It’s called Signing Love.  I have worked for many years with people with learning and physical disabilities, and have sometimes (rather clumsily) had to use sign language myself to communicate, and have always been inspired by the beauty of signing; the movement of the hands when deaf people communicate, the expressive contact of their eyes and face.  As a few of the actors I was working with were deaf, it made me want to write a love poem about two deaf people declaring their love for each other through their own language of signing… I hope you like it.

SIGNING LOVE

Your fingers are lips

Your arms a ripple of passion

Your mouth moves

And I can hear your silence whisper to me

Your hands are moving so delicately

Like butterflies

Like birds in a bell-jar

You are signing your love for me

And it's beautiful!

Tough

My daughter recently graduated as a textile designer with a first class honours degree and I am so proud of her.  She has since exhibited twice in London and has been invited to a prestigious event in Paris this weekend as one of the top graduates in her field to exhibit there too, plus she has a fantastic opportunity interning for a company in London.  I am really excited for her, and I desperately need to be earning a decent wage to help with the rent of her flat.  However, work at the moment is in short supply, and a troublesome persistent cough has also sent me back to hospital for a chest x-ray.  I’ve lost about a stone in weight in a very short time, but of course it could also be down to stress (I hope so).  So, more hospital appointments, blood tests and so forth.  Life keeps throwing things at me; I get up ready to have another crack at earning a crust, but then something else comes along and kicks me in the face, and I somehow have to struggle to my feet and carry on again.  But I have to admit I feel weary at the moment, weary and tired, and just hope like my friend in hospital for a chink of light.  I so want to be positive for Lucy and be there for her, but in spite of me trying hard to fake it, I’m not great company at the moment.  Life is so bloody tough sometimes. 

Poem Of The Week - Autumn Is Coming

I guess everyone remembers where they were when they heard the terrible news of when two aeroplanes crashed into the world trade centre.  Today of course is the anniversary of that tragic and needless event that made the world a different place and lit the fuse for unimaginable conflict in the Middle East too.  I heard the news from my wife who called me on my mobile while I was walking through Wales with a friend and his dog, tracing the path of the River Severn.  We had to make a diversion for a while, and join the river at a different point, and I can remember clearly how beautiful and breath taking it looked as we suddenly walked through a coppice and began to descend into the valley below, where the sun sparkled on the river and made one feel grateful just to be there and see it.  Sarah rang me from the school where she taught, and said that parents were arriving to pick up their kids telling horrendous stories of a tower or something in America that had been hit by an aeroplane.  Sure enough when we eventually reached a small town and stopped at a pub for some refreshment, the bar was crowded with people staring disbelievingly as those now iconic images of the two planes crashing into the towers were played over and over again.  This is the poem I wrote that night when we arrived at our guest house.

AUTUMN IS COMING

The wind is keen

And the sky is bright and clear

The fields around are as green as Eden

The leaves on the trees in the nearby coppice

Tinkle a dry song

Apprehensive of the coming autumn fall

As I turn the bend over the hill

The river suddenly comes into sight

And it’s beautiful

The sun has dropped diamonds on the surface

And the river dazzles

Takes my breath away

Makes me stop and gaze

And be thankful that I am here

Feeling the wind blow around my head

Hearing the trees whispering their autumn song

Feeling the damp grass

Carpet my way down to the valley floor

To the banks of the flowing river

And I say to myself

Remember this moment

Remember where you are and how you feel

Remember how the wind blows around your head

How the trees sound as they sway slowly in the distance

How the grass feels like a carpet beneath your feet

Remember how normal and unique this moment is

How nature still endures

And surprises us with its magical paint box

Studding a river with jewels

Stopping a man in his tracks

Making him gaze with wonder and gratitude

Remember

For moments like these are as rich and rare

As a pearl rescued from the bottom of a cold, deep sea

Because the world is a different place now

And will never be the same again

Two aeroplanes

Two towers

And the world has changed

From across the sea

Thousands of miles from here

Where the trees whisper

And the wind makes the grass dance

Thousands of miles from here

Where a river in a valley shines like a rope of light

Far from here

Where the landscape breathes peace into the air

Far from here

A City is bleeding

Children are crying

Dust is falling

Their parents are dying

Autumn is coming

Poem Of The Week - It Is Time To Return To The source

 THE RIVER SEVERN POEMS

A series of poems commissioned by BBC Radio 4 in the voice of the River Severn, voiced by Jane Lapotaire for three plays called - Plays Of The Severn, including - A magnificent Prospect Of The Works by Peter, Roberts, Just Another Tunnel by Christopher Denys, and A Little Bit o' Bacon Fat by Martyn Read in December 2000. 

The plays charted the course of Britain's longest river through history and landscape; the voice of the river ran through each play.  The poems were also added to with a journey I later undertook to trace the course of the river from its source to the sea.  So this poem, It Is Time To Return To the Source wasn’t written for any of the plays, but was my personal reflection on walking the length of the Severn, understanding the purpose of a river; and I suppose it could also be seen as a metaphor for how seemingly small insignificant moments in our lives can also be important, and touch others without us even realising it as we all walk inevitably to our journey’s end.

IT IS TIME TO RETURN TO THE SOURCE

It is time to return to the source of the river

To go back to the beginning

Where muddy water bubbles up

through the soggy earth

And trickles its way over stones

worn smooth with the sculptor's soft caress

It is time to trace my way back

To find the meaning of a river

And see how a tiny cut

Bleeds a puddle into a stream,

into a river, into a sea

Here is a journey of patience

The earth has opened a tiny vein

To feed an artery

To fill the heart of an estuary

And breathe life along its way

And I can feel time

calling me back to the source

To see how simple things

can become grand and important

To see how a muddy puddle

can become an ocean

and make a whole planet live.