Saturday, 29 October 2016

Hurtling Towards A Chaotic Breakfast

I make my way downstairs at speed,
At almost break-neck pace, indeed,
I stumble twice, but fleet 
Of foot, spurred on by greed,
Half sliding, in my stockinged feet,
My mind on 'eat all you can eat',
And how I've paid, have the receipt, 
And how I feel the need
To sample all, but not exceed
The bounds of decency, 
To feel more than just replete,
To feel the joy it is to feed,
Towards my breakfast I proceed.
I'll Take muesli to start with or maybe shredded wheat,
Eggs, and then black pudding 
(Thank you God for things that bleed)
I'll taste the rolls with poppy seed,
Spread with cheap jam, sickly sweet,
In contrast to the bacon and other salted meat,
Then take yoghurt, fruit, toast, kedgeree,
Drink orange juice as well as tea,
And when I'm done I'll go on deck,
Try not to slip and break my neck
And probably,
I'll barf chaotic breakfast,
Straight back out into the sea.








Wednesday, 5 October 2016

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man




The beard is crude, but not the jaw,
Which now is squarer than before,
The brow is thicker, yet realistic,
The gaze defiant, antagonistic.

I am myself and yet am other,
My cocky, handsome, younger brother,
And yet the arrogance is mine,
And something else I can't define.

It's something that belongs to me,
But something that one shouldn't see
In a middle aged mother.

God works in mysterious ways
His wonders to perform,
These days he likes to use an app,
It has become His norm.

And so with algorithms,
And other tricks which free us
From our self deceit, we
"see ourselves as others see us".











Tuesday, 4 October 2016

Maternal Thoughts



I saw the train as I looked down the track,
A distant glimpse of yellow-metal back,
About to disappear around the bend.
I knew then you had the courage that I lack,
And hoped it somehow grew out of my fear,
That my smothering, mothering need to keep you near,
This push-me-pull-you wanting childhood to end,
This clinging need for one hand-crafted friend,
Had been the catalyst required
To send you out into the world to make your mark.

And yet I cannot quite let go,
This maternal way of thinking seems to grow,
I wish to live vicariously and have the knack.
So now you shape your future on your own, yet in the dark
Of the unknown, each seed of an idea
That I have sown, I hope will germinate,
And infiltrate,
Then growing to the light somehow illuminate,
So you see only brightness, never black.