Word jar I wish I
Could jam my way
Through
Like a jazz musician
Feeling akin to
Misery in beats
Tipping top lip and
Sticking toes’ curlable
Bits to the very
Top tips of sweaty
Sox from the drum
Hum of the streets
Word jar, I wish I
Could jam my way
Out…
This is the time of year when
Music needs to dig deep
To find us, rap a rope
Around our waists and wind
Us up to the light.
This is the time of year
When summer sounds are
Hollow and clatter round
Like flies scanning for jam
Round an empty jar.
This is the time of year
When Love’s warmth is
Set in relief against the
Grey, when any ray is welcomed
Like a hero from the war.
This is the time of year
When something as tiny as a
Crocus bud is all the hope
We need to prove again that
Life springs from mud.
We lock our hearts away
In a strong case made of
Glass you can see but not
Penetrate and behind each
Plate we line up the cups with
Matching saucers, best bit turned
To face the audience while behind
It cracks choke on dust and the
Wood collects gloom for want of
Other company; these cups have
Nothing to say, locked away for
So long, they have forgotten how
To warm their bones with tea, how
To handle the soothing, be cradled in
Jammy fingers and strawberry thumb
Being Every Day 