A Lesson In Ignorance

Here is her pride, rain-wet,

standing on unsteady feet,

bowed backbone arched

above bandy baby legs.

The child is looking down

at the washed out worm

that is barring her path

like a great orme.

She will not step over

nor will she go round

nor can she ignore

this curling creature.

Mother comes up to her

watches the wriggling thing

alongside her daughter

and laughs.

She moves forwards

and stamps on the worm,

leaves a bacon rind smear

across the pavement.

The daughter stamps too,

missing the streak,

but getting the message,

learning, remembering.

This is how to treat them,

the creatures of the world,

this is what you do, my pet,

you kill them, little girl.

What Shall We Do?

Shall we carry on like this, the way we are, close

but not quite together? One couple that is

two distinct people, different in every way

except for our love for one another? Shall we

continue, side by side but out of step, walking

through life together, but in different directions?

Is that such a bad way to be?

I would rather be with you than anyone, so

why can we not just get along, plod on, and give

and take what we can from each other? Let me

write and think and things, give me headspace

to play in. You can do what you love, too,

dance and jig your days away, be unique.

The more I see of other people, the more I know

that we’re not freaks. The couples sitting in the

bars, driving past us in their cars, saying nothing,

thinking something like ‘I wish I was elsewhere’.

There is the truth.

We both were different at the start,

we never were the same,

now both together but apart,

that’s how it will remain,

and when we each face up to that,

we’ll both be glad again.

I Love It Less And Less

Out walking this weekend,

I passed through open spaces,

places that were green,

wooded, unseen. Sometimes

I saw only the good, sun and

blues skies, mist and frost,

lots of birds and trees

I could not name,

nothing man-made, no

dwelling-places, though

I heard the sound of him,

his cars and jets and roar

of dirt-bikes, ugly voices.

His noise annoys me.

Always has. It is late

at night. Alone, drinking,

thinking of my outcast state,

here, in this place of mine,

a space designed

for those like me

to live and die in,

for just surviving,

more and more,

and every day,

the less and less

I want to stay.

The Dark In Me

Oh, god I love a good great stormy sky.

It calls to me in ways that sunny

days just never could. The good that should

be there in every heart was not in mine

right from the start. I am made that way.

I love the dark more than the light, the night

more than the day. Good people just

unsettle me, regretfully, though thankfully

they are so rare. I don’t care. There

is no place to hide

the dark in me,

the side that people see, though I

have tried. Besides, there is no point.

I am what I am, and you are you. All

we can do is be true to us, to what we are,

light, or dark. And sometimes, to my own

surprise, I rise to it, my darkness,

I prize it.

For who in all this world would crave

to be not dark, not light,

but grey?