The pattern of my day has become ninety percent
the same, as the day before,
the day before, the day before,
repeated actions, a couple of games of Cribbage
to get the brain in gear, repeated actions,
an album of the day, in which to reminisce,
to remember you,
or someone that looks the same,
as you did back then,
in my memory,
the sense of new excitement
coursing through my veins,
as I undo a new recording
The trigger feels inviting
doesn’t it?
The parade passes your house,
and I get it, you’re afraid,
something inside you
that has always been there
hiding,
concealing itself under the thin mask
of respectability, cruelty, and hate
denied,
loathing and malice
rebuffed,
accusations of temper tantrums
rejected,
as you point your gun at the crowd
because you feel afraid…
…or is it real, this feeling of power
you imagine you had as you squeeze
It may look spectacular,
The first-time roll
of the – count them and weep – five sixes
that make up the thrill of Yahtzee,
but what does that matter if all you roll
afterwards is the odd
double four,
forever chasing the large straight
or the four of a kind,
shaking your hand, blowing
the dice, willing them
to give you the thrill once more of a five
that leads to a hundred…
forgetting that the win is based
partly on making sure you score
Surrounded upon all sides
by a mountain of inspiration
I could ever wish for,
and yet here I sit behind
a lock down home, scared
to take a peek, occasionally
being brave to see what’s happening,
the peep hole giving a glimpse of
what is normal.
Normal, nothing
had better be considered
as normal again, not by their standards,
not in our lifetime, not in the next,
because all is out of control,
Could you have imagined
as In-laws looked on
at the Warwickshire lad who
swept the nurse off her feet,
what fifty years would bring.
A half century on, time has been
and what a time it was,
from a still black and white photograph
as family joined, a celebration
that has been at sea and the comfort
of dry land, did you imagine
ever
that the life you have shared
would have been
before playing Cribbage
Wearing the outside
in these days, my Grandfather
would have raised
an eyebrow at the lack of formality
even behind the closed
green and yellow door,
brill creamed silver hair, combed
in, neatly presented,
even out of uniform,
he stood tall.
These days
in, are fraught
behind the closed doors
we have shut
tight, stopping short of hammering
wood across the entrance,
confining ourselves
to the odd peek
“Put that light out”, would come a voice of thunder
from outside on the street, “Don’t you know
there’s a war on?”
You couldn’t answer back
by saying I know my rights, but I need to see,
how am I supposed to do this, that, and a bit of the other
if my lights aren’t glaring, lighting up the streets…
any way I don’t believe there is danger
up in the skies, I think you are over
reacting, jumped up little Hitler,
that sound above
My Grandfather fought an Evil,
as all who lived in dark times
swore to do, that came
with shiny jackboots
and a list of names to shoot
should they get past Dover.
One Great Grandfather was the chief
stoker on the ship that took the King
to the edge of freedom
as the world declared
no more, no more lists,
no more boots kicking down the door.
Another of that generation
defied the bombs
that flew over Birmingham,
It was meant, and taken
with absolute kindness,
an observation handed to the recipient
as one would offer a Raspberry Ripple
ice cream to a sweating man as he
patiently waited for a glass of water
brought by slow camel from the Sahara.
I smiled as my friend spoke down the phone
on his birthday, as he handed me the verbal
compliment with sincerity. I always imagined
that living in your head, old pal,
was like watching four classically trained
I can only presume
that your mother is proud
of you, as you smile for the camera
and step on the backs
of the dead
and the dying,
of the poor
and suffering
you “helped set free”.
Look Ma, you cry,
remembering only to punch
the air, (thinking of the faces
of those you deem reckless,
at best,
unspeakable
detestable
thin skinned and lazy,
is your true assessment),
remembering to punch the air