My son has a word; not a word your mind knows;
the word - ‘izzy’.
Mind you, it does feel like you’re special
when he calls you ‘izzy’.
Mind you, he emphasizes and lengthens
vowels.
Mind you, he means it when he says ‘izzy’
luxuriously, eye to eye.
My son has a new word;
the word ‘izzy’: it means I Love You.
He means it. He wants you to use it. Mind you use ‘izzy’ well.
He really won’t mind.
When I was 36 … Andrew found me;
he sought me out, tracked me down
I didn’t know why (but now I do)
in summer at the top end of town
drenched
by self pity.
Into light he came from tunnel
and darkness, violent convulsions,
yes violence and a face ancient
touching, lolling and I softened;
cried
like a baby.
I wake all of a sudden in the dark.
Sunday morning. Soon I’ll get
to work and put my hands on wood, saw
and glue. I lie blinking into
dusty black and hear outside
rushes of plummeting rain hammering
windows, tiles, freshening surfaces
like when lying half awake
heavy drops drip and splash
meeting and eventually running
downhill into trickle, river, sea.
Mortise and tenon include, uphold
and I join water roaring forwards
back into a dream of night.
The trick, it seems, is to sleep like an angel
then ask Mum to go onto Youtube
in the blue dining room where
sun peeps through curtains.
Still in pyjamas, eat brown toast,
surfing for musicals, like Oliver - the boy
who never lied or cheated. On the news
three Down’s children will be terminated today.
One of those things
- the future in a dream.
I sit drinking cappuccino,
dawn rises amber and I
imagine the liquid
all gone.
An hour stretches
from milk to empty cup;
this day, week and year, this life
until my coffee drains
the past into a dream.
One of those things.
Open a blind and see what we find;
no worries on what might be lurking behind.
Windows’ wide open, nothing large
will barge us on down if we stand steady,
arms out ready, feet on the ground.
Peep round this wall, nothing will fall
if we play at wizards, walking tall,
dazzling and laughing, wholesome and bright,
igniting a fire on a skittering cloud
and dancing abroad with balance and poise.
Any true voice sings along with the bass
when a melody melts in its time and its place;
we sing all together, harmony strong,
and out from beyond a phenomenal birth
a sounding of earth will resonate through.
So you?
Stranger, you stranger, with every click of the clock,
will you stay with me, now
now and and now
until my little song of life is sung?
