Mask

A birthday Thursday – Twenty One today,
first son, Andrew, has games to play;
a book of scary masks to colour;
pirate, alien, monster, mummy.

He can’t see any particular point in
all that tedious colouring-in;
choosing pencils, stay in line,
boring like schoolwork, forced inside

until he gets the notion,
a mask lets out emotion;
a roar, a scream, a drama queen,
exuberance burst behind a screen

of moments leaking a tiny dream
not for hiding - expressing truth.
Out, at last, the real deal
behind a mask – a sparkling me – and you.

Coloured paths on a woodland sign say

there’s a way through the woods with stepping stones;

some blue ones going west into new darkness

or a silver trail ahead into old light

or brown ones lopping out towards my right.

Right - all is solid,

ahead – future history,

left - a big mystery.

Now, time to choose

and early this morning, I drove East

as a crimson sun caught my eyes;

rising up - a separation from land

- up, up and away, from god knows where.

One fission bomb, like clockwork,

ancient and total, emerging from dark.

When he was alive,

a train flew forward;

green fields, bright clouds, backward

- inside – blue seats vibrated

and the end of a black pen tilted.

Memory flew backwards

- old Mum, wooden school desk, Dad –

and his longing bellied forward

through anger, joy and fear, sadness,

forward and back from that sunlight into grey fog,

from this moment of - a very second

hurtling into time-space onward

away from a time unsullied

(now in an aching carriage)

and a future fully loaded.

Lord's Prayer

New rain descends like kingdom come

onto my old head:

split-splat-sploshing cold

carving out senselessness, a hollow, into my brain, a concave heart

pulling no-thing-in to hammer there – that void

rising up softly, forgiving everyone – including my old self, most of all

making sure I find the next step; new dark, alive, with morning.