I decided to tell you
slowly
when my Dad
walked up the beach
in baggy shorts and sandals
on his last ever holiday
he was fascinated by pebbles, shells,
people passing in bright shirts
and he smiled in the sun
taking all the time
in the world to
walk and look:
slowly
I decided to tell you.
I breathe,
feeling anger, fear and sadness, joy;
softly
I nourish
warmth
and passion
planting
the wholly unobvious
until, battered now,
I’m breath.
Music plays and we’re with friends,
drinking wine and drinking beer;
Andrew’s there, it’s not too late,
and mouths are jabbing me, me, me
when Andrew stiffens, widens eyes
hunting, hunting for a feel
of background music rising free
- he’s noticed, listen, noticing
some music that is soaring off
and both his feet are rising, rising:
floating in a pulse of sun
while you and I are thrashing, thrashing,
thrashing through the frost.
In a group, students decide
honesty’s a value;
that they would like to use their honour
and tell a welling truth
in single words, in flowing sound
and feel morality rise and fly,
sometimes missing sailing ears,
sometimes causing a new ‘aha’,
sometimes stabbing into a heart
and now, outside, insistent birds
flute their sweetness over Doppler cars
and the bitter, little, hark of a crow
but when words rise and start a truth:
how will they know? How do we ever know?
My son sits on the floor
so he won’t fall - or legs overshake -
keeping low for his own sake
reducing tension, so when fairy stories pour
and words flow excitedly,
he can play the action hero, fly
like Superman. He finds that classics are best,
more natural - Red Riding Hood amongst the trees
(where he’ll play the Woodman) the rest
of the cast played by anyone else nearby
who fill the lower parts, baddies
or witches, ugly sisters, Grandma.
Big Bad Wolf is his favourite part
and he grabs the role of Troll beneath the bridge
in Billy Goats Gruff; you merely do a smaller bit
of method acting, trip trapping;
all arranged so he can own
the Hero’s part, the one with most to give.
He’s Prince Charming in every show
declaiming a soliloquy so
there is no chance to oust him or argue
with his passion. He upstages every pig!
Full sized, he plays the hero, front of stage;
and goes for it - he plays the part that’s big.
How
a fleeting glance
is a chance
for romance.
How
a weighty word,
profound, absurd,
flies like a bird
but
reaching hands
have much
more chance
for a song
and dance.
Hiding’s not possible when he decides
to talk to you; to ask a question like
‘have you a beard?’:- and everything falls still,
or ‘Are you mad?’:- and you pause in the void,
or ‘are you bovvered?’:- and silence abounds
catching your breath because spotlights are on
and you might say the wrong thing:
bearded or bovvered or mad – Well??
And it’s ridiculous how quickly you blush
just because it’s not so easy to answer
routinely. Behind the question
lies a sly question, a poke
bringing you live to connection, ‘can you connect?’
and there’s a boy laughing and doing his work.
