She had bright
Red papier mâché,
He, a thick oak.
Between funerals,
The years, brittle,
Wan, now mingled
With the best ones –
Dusty joy,
Shared; striding, touching,
Swimming through the wind.
souls
Remembrance Sunday peace and sound
We ring the bells for
Babies, we ring them
Then for brides and
Grooms, we ring them
Every Sunday, in politeness
To our Father, his Son and
Of course, the Holy Ghost.
Today’s bells ring and ring
And clash with the drums
And brass blowing down
The street to the pound
Of feet remembering flesh
That was blown to sand
Or mud or stone, depending
On the time, the place and
The type of luck or
Bravery that graced
The soldier who didn’t know
The shortcut was It.
Arpeggios, majors, no
Minors – Don’t dwell
On pain, keep calm
Carry on – Don’t clock
The fuss civilians
Make about bombs.
Drums for triumph
Beating out a time of
Red and gold and
Sabre mounted on the
Field, blast through the murmur
Of stealth or chocolate bars
Mingling with Kalashnikovs
In the long-distance lorry’s bowels.
Drumming stops and the
Ducks go quack quack as
They paddle in the
Lake and the leaves
Break out in chatter
Now that they can hear
Each other better without
The dreadful stacks
Of beats that back
The boots that crack
The streets to remind
Them that another year
Has passed and more
Bodies are piled on
The old ones who died
Young. God rest their souls.
Float
His roaming came
Round one day,
Led him fast
To me over skiddy
Bumps, lumps
In his throat, throttled
Down with sheer
Glide, the pride
Of Fate that bears
Souls on, beyond
The room they
Live in, to another
In the house or
Outside, even,
Further on,
To a new
Life and
Strange people,
Foreign with newness.
Here his soul
Found me,
Clocking out a
Beating sound
To mark passing
Life, feet nailed
Heavy, to the
Ground. Now
It feels as though
That instant,
Nails flew wide
And I flew up
With him on
Something fast
Moving and heady.
In reality
Time swept
On, no less
Neat than
Before nailed
Feet, freed,
Leapt on.
Being Every Day 