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Friday, March 29, 2013

Eleven jigs



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 telling
I owe you a prize. I’ve forgot the device that I plotted
To give thee. Some jigger, some such but I’ll rush
Down the jigger here, off and I’m gone.

Dance eleven fat jigs for me please
On your day in the sun.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Eulogy



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.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Morning


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.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Snickers bar



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.

Monday, March 25, 2013

On Dieting



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.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

What dreams may come



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.