Poems - silly, sensible & soppy!

I fall in love all the time
Just at a glance
I can fall
head over heels
for no reason at all

I fell in love
with my daughter’s doctor
his gentle accent
his delicate words
talking about her
asking about her
the way he carried his tall torso
as he leaned over her
checking her little body
the tubes and wires
her heartbeat
as she lay
healing on the bed

I fell in love
with a friend of a friend
her laughter
her sorrow
as she told of the fire
that destroyed her house
Her hair bounced, shook,
as she swished it out of the way
The distress of the recollection
shattering the smile on her lips

I fell in love with an aunt-to-be

(they never quite made the wedding
before the uncle died of cancer)
At the funeral
her tear-stained eyes
her bittersweet smile
her kind words for everyone else
her honesty, directness, openness
admitting her vulnerability
She warmed herself to me 

I fall in love all the time
Just at a glance
I can fall
head over heels
for no reason at all

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BEADS

 

Fingering your beads

one day at a time

Each one smooth

silky to the touch

A circle

of life

Round and round they go

like days

in a week

in a month

in a year

Seemingly endless

seamless

slipping

passing

between your fingers

Each day

like rosary beads

a mindless prayer

chanting

reciting

doing

what needs to be done

Until

one day

you see the end

 

The long string

was not endless

after all

and suddenly

you are counting

each day

each bead

as it slips through

your fingers

And your prayer

becomes more meaningful

heartfelt

Each movement

precious

each heartbeat

deliberate

delicate

delicious

No longer

the days

weigh heavy

on your neck

but slip away

between your fingers

and tumble to the floor

___________________________________________________________________

I am the moon

I am the moon

Waxing and waning

In monthly cycles

Today, shining full, and round, and bright

Yet I shine not my own light

Merely reflecting you

The sun

So strong and bright,

That even in the dark

You light up the sky

Through me.

 

But who would say

‘Moon!

You are not enough of a moon!

You should shine yourself!

You should be like the sun!

You should be more than just a Moon!’?

 

I am the moon.

Today I am a thin sliver

a fingernail in the sky

Until I disappear, unseen.

Silently there

Until you shine your light on me again

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The essence of you

Sometimes I forget

The essence of you

And I get caught up

In the lost shoes

The mislaid jumpers

The solitary jandal

as if they were more important

in my misplaced priorities.

 

Sometimes I forget

The essence of you

When I see piles of crafty debris
Half-completed projects,

paint pots and staplers

Pages of your spider-writing

Weaving webs about the house

Paper cutouts all over the freshly vacuumed floor

Leaving a trail of destruction

In my organized mind.

 

Sometimes I forget

The essence of you

When the dust bunnies

under your bed

taunt me and laugh at me

As I discover

discarded underwear

they have been hiding

From my washed out thinking

 

Sometimes I forget
the essence of you

as I discover

that rattling sound from the drier

was your tooth

you had put in your pocket

when it came out at school

and refused to put

under your pillow

for the tooth fairy

because you “will not sell your body parts”

as I sell my sanity

 

Sometimes I forget

The essence of you

As your dinner plate tips

Food flops to the floor

In a splodge of spaghetti blob-inaise

And you contritely

use the hand towel

to clean it up

Leaving a greasy shine

on the just-washed lino

A smear on my psyche

 

Sometimes I forget

the essence of you

When I tuck you up in bed

a quick cuddle, a kiss

My tired body

aching for the couch

numbing TV

and a cup of tea

and you say

in your sleepy voice

“Mummy, I don’t want to do things wrong”
 

And suddenly

My litany of sins

Washes back over me

And I think of all the items I have lost

The things I have broken

The chaos which commands my cupboards

the virtual warren of dust bunnies

vicariously breeding under my bed

the half-done projects

I have been avoiding in my in-tray

And it’s all I can do

To stop myself saying

‘get used to it, baby’.

 

Instead I fight back the tears

And try to come up with something profound

That you can take away with you

On your years

“If you don’t make mistakes,

You won’t learn, darling”

“We all stuff up sometimes, sweetie,

it’s part of being human”

or maybe

a clever quote

from Dr Seuss

or Einstein

(Were they maybe

the same person?)
 

But all I can come up with,

As my heart melts

Is that nothing

is as important

There is nothing

I love more

than finding

strewn about the house

the essence

of you

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
My brother Johnny died of a brain tumour 5 years ago. Tradegy makes us question life, the universe and everything.


For Johnny
 

The kahikatea

stand tall and close and strong
like family
sheltering
protecting
against the storms
swaying together in the breezes
cooling in the heat
 

And even as one

rots from the middle
and gently succumbs
to fall gracefully
from the midst

 

Even as it falls

it knocks branches
from the others
leaving scars
breakages
a hole
in the canopy
through which the sunlight filters
upon a young sapling
allowing it to grow
to full strength

 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Remembering John

John,     who shares our father’s name and for many years, the same address

John,     who never spoke, withdrawn, surly, silent, rude, to the fury of our father

John,     who called me a “bloody little nuisance” and had no regard for the picture of  a tractor I had drawn him for Christmas

John,     who went to Holland, his first big OE, and came back talking so much we couldn’t shut him up

John,     who married and had 4 children, now all grown up and having children of      their own

John,     who loved his farm and his cows, his tractors and his motorbikes

John,     who once said he’d “sell the bloody lot and move to town” except that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself

John,     who once told me he didn’t know if land would keep increasing in value, but he did know they weren’t making any more of it

John,     who sat and told me stories at a party, after a beer or 2, and laughed and talked

John,     who was told shortly after his 50^th birthday (what a party!) that he had a brain tumour

John,     who quietly resigned himself to his fate, saying ‘what else can I do?’

John,     who, when our mother asked what he would like for his 51^st birthday, quietly asked for 20 more years please

John,     who I sat with in hospitals and homes, at bedsides, holding his hand, talking, taking him out from those four walls when he could manage it

John,     the stoic farmer, who called a spade a bloody spade

John,     who quietly died on his own one night

John,     who, 10 days later, called our father, with whom he shares a name, and once again, the same address

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Its a Dutch tradition to have a birthday calendar in the loo- you know, with no days but birthdays & anniversaries marked on each day so you never forget...

Birthday Calendars

 

To the friend who forgot my birthday but thinks of me often!

I am quite tickled pink-le

To know that each time you tinkle

You think of me with a twinkle

‘cos my name’s on your loo door

 

However I worry ‘bout the men folk

Who miss important dates and calendar jokes

As they stand up tall like real blokes

when they deal to nature’s chore

 

Perhaps a wing mirror on the cistern

Or some other kind of system
Would keep them from awkwardly twistin’
And leaving sprinkles on the floor!