Tuesday, 21 December 2010

Skids

Half the country hit the skids when we did,
and whilst our turning world went supplicant
to Christmas pictures
and the cold closed in,
and those with time to think stripped shelves
to nourish their plans, even as families careen
into frosty ditches
scattering wishes
I say this to you; there’s no other traffic on the road
and six gears to play with, so turn the wheel again 
pull out of the skid,
with forgiving traction
there’s enough grit here to soften the toughest conditions
and in any case, the thaw comes even as the ice hardens

Sunday, 12 December 2010

The Sometime Voices

I can hear those voices again
And I don’t know them sweet or everlasting,
But loud enough and clear,
Like morning’s alarm bell
In electronic mockery of a church
Calling the faithless and the loving
From the sweet gloom of sleep
Into the kaleidoscopic rigmarole
Of our days.

In that chaotic choir, your voice raises
Always higher, by an octave, soon to sooth and bid
Those sometime hectoring voices to be still.  

Door

Another cold day, over grey
and I take the sandpaper in unsteady hands,
to smooth the edges of an old door,
unhung for months now, leaving folk free 
to walk between our rooms,
scattering their remarks like bird seed
for two lost children to follow.

Later, when I get that door up,
another turn of the screw,
and the box of tools handed to you,
we’ll shut it and plan for a lock
fast enough and firm,
to keep our heat in.