Jam

I remember,
stilted on a wooden stool
watching blackberries,
picked on Grandad's rambles
over sand dunes,
bubble in their sugary stew.

Poured out into clean jars
standing like soldiers
in a bowl of warm water
to keep glass from cracking.

Sealed with grease proof paper
and an elastic band,
labelled and dated,
left to set on a shelf
in Grandma's pantry.

My fondest memories
lie hidden in jam jars

My first attempt at a Tanka

This poem quite literally popped into my head uninvited this morning shortly after I got up...I love it when they do that.


These are not my words.

I left them unattended
Like a package at
An airport, please be careful
They might go off in your face.

Worst Case Scenario

Confounded by a wall of stoic silence

I waited…

Watching…for some subtle sub-text

Or subterfuge…

                        [God hath given you one face

                                    and you make yourselves another]

For a clue to the truth of you,

A key, a sign…something I

Should have seen sooner.

So far, frustrated…I saw nothing…

                        [Do you think I am easier to be

                                    played on than a pipe?]

Felt nothing…other than the weight

Of the (un)Certainty

That I might be right without realising.

                        [Oh frailty…]

So, why the smoke screen?

There’s a question,

Why the side long, slantendicular glances?

                        [Sense to ecstasy was ne’er so enthralled]

Chance collisions over cups of coffee

While suspicion twists sickly fingers

Through scrambles thoughts, doubts,

Unspoken accusations…like knives of ice

Inside me…

                        [From all her working all his visage waned]

Until finally…after days of denial and disbelief

The door slammed shut behind you as you left.

                        [The rest is silence…]

Drowning on Dry Land

A great black-backed gull

Grounded, floundering

Waves, one winged.

Frantic dark charcoal and white,

Searching for purchase

Against unyielding road.

Broken, spastic back-stroke,

Flops sideways,

Spins in a circle,

Then stops; dead.

Drowned on dry land.

Edge

No need to look down at the ground below

You’ll see it close-up soon enough

                               Albeit briefly.

Think of yourself as a fledgling

                   Longing to leave the suffocating confines

       Of an overcrowded nest

Yet terrified of the thought of flight

   Tonight the sky is clear

No clouds obscuring pin-pricked starlight

   And almost close enough to press your face against

Take a moment to relax

     Breathe deep

Deeper

     Make the next one your last

                         Lean forward

                                           Let go

                                                   Step

                                                        Off

Out of Season

Out of Season

Grey cloud hangs

Heavy as a damp blanket

Over a closed down seaside town.

Gulls desert sea-front

In favour of local landfill site.

Busy little B&B’s

Become flophouses for the

Homeless haunting back street cafes

And dingy amusement arcades

As they drink next month’s giro.

Fairground rides lie idle 

Maintenance crews Re-weld waltzers                                                             

Dismantle doge ‘ems

Repair rusting rollercoaster

Doubts about safety

After day-tripper decapitated

Whilst standing to read

Please remain seated sign

.Frozen out of the market

Ice-cream parlours, minus sticks of rock

Kiss-me-Quick hats,

 Sickly sweet candyfloss,

 Provide shelter for junkies

In their metal shuttered door-ways

Force ten gales propel pensioners

Face first into puddles,

Ought to know better than to brave the promenade

In the middle of winter;

While piercing shrieks from migrating geese

Signal another end of season.