Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

I’ll have me a jigger o’ that afore taking my turn And don’t give me no golfing type jigger, no fancy stuff here. I’ll be making a strike with a cue and you’ll learn I’m quite good at it too. There, I’ve finished my bit and I’ve set ‘em So you’ll never win. Put my cue down right here On this jigger a while. You stop dancing and step To the plate you young jigger. Let’s see how you do. Will you look at the table lad not At that jigger-rigged sailship that’s hanging By rope from a jigger up there? Will you concentrate Here on the felt where the game’s playing fair? And stop bobbing and weaving; tha looks like a jigger. You’re cuing a billiard ball here. You’re not taking a ride On a railwayman’s jigger up t’line Will’t be careful. Look. See. Think you’re digging a hole do you now? But take care o’ the felt. T’aint no fishing rod this. Tha’s no’ jiggering a net through the ice To catch codlets and smelt. So you’ve won, and you’re tell...

Words dripped without meaning when She had no words, no way to say And all around her listeners prayed For when the babe would speak. Words poured without listening when She chattered them, we nattered when We wished that she might learn the way Of silence. Words were questions, hopes and dreams Words were more than any seemed Words were thoughts made real and gleaned From fields of mystery. Words were promises she tried To keep and nights to sleep and she Plucked sound from trees to pour around the leaves Of pages. Ages passed. Words were left unread, unheard Unknown, the flitting forest bird Full-grown carried the leaves away To nest. And now she rests.

Mourning the dawn The turtle-dove torn From the fabric of memory. Birthday they feted His name all awaiting His shame. Deathday was black When the sky hacked the curtain In two. Morning and dawn Left the fabric alone. He’s reborn and the memory’s true.

I know he’s got it. She wants it, I know. It’s there in his pocket. It’s there in the set of her eyes. See, she won’t look at me. He’s avoiding my gaze. I’ll surprise him, just say something. Hi. Now I need to reply. I said hi. I’m not looking. His pocket’s not bending. I’ll try to pretend I don’t see. I said hi. Er, yeah, hi. What you looking at? Where? Why you staring? Not there? At my pocket. You’ve got it? Of course. I could share if you’d like.

Hungry Pacing the kitchen floor From cupboard to fridge To cooker and more Hungry pacing The kitchen floor She stares at me. I give her treats. She wags her tail Hungry no more. Hungry I’m pacing the kitchen floor From cupboard to fridge To cooker and more Hungry pacing The kitchen floor. I’ve turned into My dog.

Sweet words will flow like breezes through the trees and butterflies Will flit behind the wisdom of their eyes And sit Unseen behind the plate of grits Unheard beside the buzz of children’s laughter Adults after only What they might achieve What dreams may come. Sweet bumblebees will hum with butterflies among those trees And fallen leaves alight upon the page The wisest sage Beside the bravest stranger sits Unheard the greatest wisdom of the age The ones who we ignore May yet know this and more And dreams may come. Sweet butterflies will turn and fly away perhaps today But dreams will stay.