Headcount

We waited for him in the dank
hollow of our memories,

we had watched him march
with us;
the clockwork soldiers -

- all returned from war's disgrace, or some part of them
at least.

How do we explain
to those
who regaled us heroes -
- applauded our medals

war is something that happens to
other people,

not little boys with innocent smiles
and dreams of playing football.

Don't send any more letters
from home,

your son is dusting away
in the desert,

already picked clean.

The soldier’s wife

The wife walked with
her soldier husband
down love street,

its narrow walkway

beyond the cloudy ruins
of political reasoning.

She was happy then

and they kissed beneath
a sunset that swooped
possessively.

Plans of children
stained on their hearts -

- laughter and love hanging
on leafy lined streets

carefree and lost in mindless
love,

that stretched the sun into a monument
of smiles.

Then she was a widow –

and silently the world sank -


- War is hell she used to say.


 

a midnight view

On occasional nights
Gibraltar appears
like a stricken battleship,

alight with fire -

- but other nights
it appears to be
a great monster,

ascended from the depths
of the ocean;

ready to hungrily consume Spain
in one big limestone gulp.

Sicauna

i went to Paris
in search of love

stood on the St-Michel bridge
and watched the Seine
flow out gently towards England -

- while love became a mindless bliss
that forgot me in its twilight stroll.

Instead i found loneliness
as i stood possessed
by the Notre Dame Cathedral

and shards of beautiful women
became an artistic blur.

Beneath the river lights were trapped
like prisoners escaped from Bastille -

- they marched and blinked from Plateau de Langres
and shimmered dreamlike through Cote-d'Or,
their ranks increasing with the night.

Onwards they marched
beneath the Seine,
slowly washing my love away with them towards the sea.

Dawn my saviour remained hours away, east of here.

The Individual

Outside my window
in mid December

i noticed that the trees
that lined my road
were still in full greenage,
as if in some kind of protest
at global warming
and the odd weather
of late.

One tree however,
stood proudly bare
at the frosty sky -

- naked and leafless
its branches clawed skywards,
defiant to the protests around.

Memento

In a piano bar
on the top floor
of a Dubai hotel,

i watch the sea
from a long window
and observe lights
in the city,

while memories
of a woman
will return as dreams

in a distant tomorrow.

The oak tree

At sunset i watched
a tall lonely oak
scratch at the sky
with its long verdant boughs,

as i moved closer
it became fearful
that i might carve my name
into its beautiful trunk-

- so the oak shivered
its leafy limbs

and warned me off towards
the spruce and pine.

Whistle stop

The chef whistled happily
in the galley of the ship
while he ruined lunch
and left us with nothing
but an irritating tune to
hum all day.

The funeral

They stand around the grave
of the man that left them early-

-damp eyed all of them
and as grey and chalky
as exhaust fumes.

It rains quietly,
dropping somnolently
without fuss

and birds watch curiously
from wet oak limbs.

The faceless lower him
into the earth
while briefly time ceases-

-Later at his wake
they drink stiff drinks

and talking about his life
restores the colour
to their faces.

the lost battalion

On a mountainside in southern Spain
tall trees in full greenage
climbed silently in single file,

marching with military sturdiness
like a long forgotten battalion
of republican soldiers-

-still ceaselessly advancing
towards General Franco.

Branches swaying
in the Moorish wind
appeared as slung rifles

and onwards they marched,
endlessly towards a distant
forgotten battle-

-while the bitter scent of
oranges rose from the west,
flanking the battalion
triumphantly.

Death came to lunch

Death visited my Uncle's house that day
while we began to sit for lunch,
it hovered menacingly around the kitchen
as Aunt prepared a punch.

It whispered and whimpered across the table
spilling gravy from my sisters plate
and sat down quietly next to the fridge,
where it stayed deciding our fate.

Before long it was on the move again
slipping quickly across to the sink,
pushing pots and pans to the floor with a crash,
it grinned and gave me a wink.

My cousin was lounging on the sofa
chain smoking in the long front room,
Death sat down next to him and said,
"I'll be seeing you very soon".

The reflection

The town that stood
upon a hill

was seen reflected in a sea
that sung ballads to
a sleepy beach.

Shimmering softly
with the night,

the streetlights
and cafe neon's,

silently

wash gently ashore.

For the defeated

The naval officer
was liked by his peers
because he talked
with a nasal twang,

talked fondly of the Queen
and had blue blood
in his veins.

When he lost his men
and ship through negligence,

they carved his name
boldly in stone

and left his men
to old black and white photographs
and a forgetful promise to families.

The artist's impression

At night the harbour
became a large canvas,

lights from ships
and cafe thronged
marinas,

dancing and quivering
in artistic fluency.

But towards morning
the canvas faded,

and once again
the harbour
became an abstract
of fishing boats
and buff coloured gulls.

The glorious dead

They lay silently at attention

beneath a hazy sky

wind brushing them,

dust spoiling around

and endless poppies

worn. 

Overhead carrion hunters

circled shark like

and memories

of their young lives

swam around in tears.

Too late for hindsight

and too early

for remorse

so here silently they lay

the glorious dead.