On Holiday

The runway brings wonder,
Breathing its strange breath,
Promising nourishment like
The heave of swollen teats.  

In the the car on the wrong
Side, we can’t read the signs, passing fast
The radio means nothing, gushing
Loud then soft, like the sea.  

In the old town, new to us, the shops
Feature treats. We eat as much as we can,
Looked on by History, never stopping to
Look up at her stories,  

Soon we will be going back, 4
More days of unforecast choices before
We lift off and die and memories cake us in
Nostalgia until we are born again.    

Last bad SAD poem before Spring, I hope

 

I am done with this day

Put it back on the shelf

Or in my bag, that way

 

I can read it on the

Bus, if I change my mind

For one that wants to be

 

Reading something new.

Now is old, blank and clean,

That extra page preserved

 

For silent doodling, no-

One watching or listening

Now that ‘The End’ has passed.

SAD, never mind, anticipate Spring.

 

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.