Rightful place.

I decided to clean out the cupboard today
the one with the broken handle you never fixed.
The one you threw everything into - never to be seen again.
I grappled with the
spaghetti of indiscriminate wires,
pulled the useful from the now archaic.
I delved into the masses of papers that stuffed a corner
grabbing handfuls and rudely slapping them on the floor
and I saw you
staring up at me from childish eyes.
You looked elated
full of life.

I stuffed everything back in its rightful place
accept you,
you live here now – in my pocket
until further notice.

Spelling List Poem

I teach a Communications lesson on a Tuesday morning and I'm just putting together a spelling list from the students errors from last week.

I read it.

And then I Read it.

Spelling List

around

accident

coller (bone)

grateful

important

pieces

properly

turned

wasted

Amberleaf Angels

Amberleaf Angels

After TS Eliot

‘I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men’

They lean, quietly puffing,

on walls and fences

sporting pac-a-macs and flat caps.

I've seen the smoke that rises,

skims along the street on the light breeze.

It chokes and burns the throat

of the young girl at the bus stop

but the opaque clouds

of dirty lemon

hang and glide through the air

slow, free

and congregate outside the church

in an Amberleaf- Drum protest march

all the way down to the circle.

The girl splutters as it passes

and the haze disperses,
and a wisp of angels

rises into the ether.

I can solve all your problems

with a simple remedy of my own making.

Just sip this Nepenthe three times a day with meals

and over time the square patches left behind

by pictures will be covered by dark

oppressive modern wallpaper.

The pink towels stacked neatly in the cupboard

will turn a Bachelor shade of grey.

The ornamental vase that holds the gas key

and the radiator bleeding key

will better serve some charity shop.

The faint sweet smell in the air

will fade

and you'll wake up one day

in the centre of your own bed.

When I woke up this morning, you were almost here.

I stretched and my hand

reached over to you

and lay in the cold hollow in the pillow.

I could smell you on the sheets,

catch you moving in the air,

rising from the radiators

on convection currents.

In the kitchen, you'd left the light on.
The kettle, still throwing tiny spirals of steam,

sat innocently on the sideboard

waiting for closure.

Days like these

Days like these

when the fabric of time puckers at the seems

and tiny pieces of my future

seep

through.

I’m reminded of fragility,

and waste,

of the days to come

sat in waiting areas

praying to anyone who will hear me.

I year ago today we lost Dad.
I'll find him again....but as is my nature it might take me a while.
Keep a seat warm for me Dad.