Friday 9 May 2014

The Room Elsie Visited Every Day of Her Life





There was a room,
Elsie visited,
Every day of her life.

As adult, as child,
As widow, as wife.

It contained a shell,
With a jagged hole,
Which contained soap,
Upon a hair,
Upon a yellow,
Porcelain bowl.

This room she visited,
Every day of her life,
Sometimes twice,
Sometimes thrice.

There once she confessed,
To herself,
All of her sin.

There once she wept,
And there,
More than once,
She locked herself in.

In this very room,
T'was that Elsie left,
This world, this spark,
This life bereft.

That very room,
With toilet bowl,
She flitted consciousness,
Somehow,
And traded,
Her soul.

Every day,
For seventy two years,
Elsie visited this room,
With all her fears,
Laughter, tears,
All her love,
And all her wonder,
All her precision,
And all her blunder.

Twenty six thousand
And three hundred days,
Elsie visited that room,
That room,
This room,
That room,
Where we all,
Expel waste.




Thursday 27 February 2014

Pits of Joy




these little pits of joy exist
in an otherwise dark existence
these little pits of joy persist
with no cause for their persistence

this photo
two smiling children
tears of joy
porridge smells
and the biting cold set in

these little moments
these scratched toys
from the bagintheloft
two little boys
these amnesic snow drifts
elated escapes
T...tiny, T...tiny
t'tiny detailed shapes

then here comes the grief
sudden
inevitable
but wouldn't you know
not wholly irrevocable
as the
two smiling children
smile
smile
we miss you always
smile, smile
through all the days

because they won't rub out
those sketches of joys
carved in the road
when we were boys
yes again
and again
these little pits
lower me in
beyond my wits

oh joy
joy
these little pits of joy
exist
to keep me here
and not to be missed