Christmas Poem
Its late.
The sea is swilling, dully flat against the harbour wall
Even the clinking sail boat masts have lost enthusiasm
The drapes more flail than flap, the Christmas lights
In the morosely quiet marina, weak and helpless
Against the grey chill of winter.
People are huddled in the bars and restauraunts,
Groping their iphones like old aunties with sherry;
The leatherette banquettes, wrinkled and slick
From the wet and worn out traffic of seasonal shoppers
And in the multi-storey all is a-squeak with the whine of windscreen wipers
As the chill constantly drizzles down.
He waits.
You promised to come back, laughing loud, promised that you would call
Downstairs the children play on gameboys only half expecting,
That there will be hot food, the fire lit,
Or your verbosely happy persona, will re-appear
Against this cold, dark, sadness.
People pass by on the rain slicked street
Caught in the streetlight holding each other, like fools
Against the winds and time, serving to remind you once again,
That she promised, that it’s Christmas; love, peace, goodwill
Are all in short supply, un-stocked shelves in your local supermarket.
It’s late, you gather yourself up in the half-light by the window,
As the waves, thick with memory and hope, swell and fall
You’ll wait, a little longer.
© Juliet Brain, 2011
Imber
Oh Imber, this once thriving village
haunted by the dogs of war and retribution.
Emptied, waiting as the wind blows through
Mourning restoration.
And the church bell tolls but once a year
For souls who once lived and those
Who have passed through
And the ghosts that sweep around that emptiness
harshly keen
in the dankness of the green latrines.
written in response to this picture
http://www.flickr.com/photos/miketoons/3441695145/ by @Miketoons
by J.Brain, April 2009
These Lives Lost
these lives lost
08.36 by dwayne wyatt
Office fills grudgingly,
shop bought recyclable cups
litter desks.
Alpha office males yawn.
Swivel chairs swapped
when no-one is looking.
10.01
Yesterdays jobs finally complete
shoes taken off to stretch tired feet,
clock watching for coffee break.
Thoughts already of lunch.
11.23
Tonguing remains of biscuit,
stolen from presentation buffet
to tide over until lunch.
Google new jobs and holiday breaks
to fight soul crushing job.
15.34
Zombie groans
from jealous friends of teachers who finish.
Switch from coffee to tea
hole puncher executive stress hand exercises.
16.49
Office empties
photocopiers and computers
wearily drift off into standby
with exhausted sighs.
Distant furious typing
to not end up working late.
18.02
Travel home in sauna shoe box
Silently read strangers novels
Generously held wide open
for all to share.
20.13
Ready meal remains stained plates
stacked by kitchen sink.
Lonely silhouetted figure
against an eastenders showing 42” lcd screen.
Laptop scrolls with facebook updates.
Holey sock creeps out from sofa cushion.
22.43
Scrolling through
contract free cable channels
to find something to waste time
until bedtime.
Magpie
It’s only now,
as I dissassemble your magpie nest
Of all things old, shiny and unusual;
Your semi complete collections:
Glasses, fans, gloves, collar studs
stoneware, glassware
an aladdins cave of discarded objects
Found by you and kept safe
That I start to know you.
You were distant for a long time
too much tragedy, too many battles too young,
Too late you demanded my friendship,
Wheedled and sulked like a child,
Your nest was too prickly for me to sit comfortably in.
And now I sense you as a young girl
Bossy, driven, organising
Full of idea and excitement, adventure
Ronnie Scotts, Pantomimes, Rome
Days on the beach, dancing…
And the letters pour in,
memories, stories, little glimpses of you
happier days, than these later years.
My father said, when I was a teenager
That I had all the worst bits of the two of you,
He said it with a smile but it troubled me.
It is still in my head as I bag and box.
Your sister is keen to de-clutter
But talks as if you were some kind of saint, a martyr
She rifles through your bits and pieces with purpose,
Egging my father on to clear the decks.
Cautiously I remove things from the dustbin
thinking that after all the effort of keeping them so long,
I should at least find these treasures new homes to go to.
A friend suggested a summer season of car boots,
I tried one but lay awake all night
Agonising over whether you would have approved
Of my wholesale disposal of your hoard.
We are all of us, exhausted from our careful
De-construction of your kingdom,
Such passion and time poured into the creation of it.
You did good things, you were loved and you are missed
But I am relieved, to rediscover the space and the light,
To banish the pungent odour of mothballs and dust.
I am relieved.
J. Brain June 2010
The end of the world by Miroslav Holub
The bird had come to the very end of its song
and the tree was dissolving under its claws.
And in the sky the clouds were twisting
and darkness flowed through all the cracks
into the sinking vessel of the landscape.
Only in the telegraph wires
a message still
crackled:
C-.-o—-m—e. h…o—-m—e.
y-.—o—-u..- h…a.-v…-e.
a.-s…o—-n-.
The Christening Party pt II
250 miles we went,
to see them wet the babys forehead.
A small and precious thing
Unknowing of the road ahead
Unfearing, unaware.
In the church we sang and prayed
And our echoes never dinted the hills around
Or raised the head of sheep and lambs
Til the stamping of our feet on stone and rock
For the after service coffee and the buffet queue
Rang out, sang out with relief.
250 miles we went to hold the baby
let the tiny fingers grip us, asking
Keep me, hold me, guide me
And when the music started
We talked more softly, knowing
Of the duty before us all.
And as the steam from paper mill churned out beside our gathering
And the river water tipped and churned past our feet
We strived to recapture noble thoughts within us and be good.
In the grassy verge, a rabbit shivered, half blinded and dying
Someone for the sake of mercy held it by its legs and
Dashed it against a low stone wall,
Spattering blood on his Sunday shirt
A wetting and a blooding seems fitting
for such a party.
a sugar coated haiku
Doughnut sugared lips
resistance to kiss you fails.
Sickly sweet moment.
by @theboywyatt
The Christening Party
I realise there has been no laughter
For a long while.
Standing at the back of the room
Moving to the music
I look around and notice the man in the fleece
Has swapped places
And that there aren’t enough chairs.
A woman is dancing with a baby in her arms,
Another flailing out of time and intent
On the floor.
New life, old life and somewhere in between
Swaying, standing, lost in memory
Engrossed in continuing the history
The pattern.
Outside a dog barks, and someone laughs
as the singer and the guitarist finish and look up
Expecting, or perhaps fearing the applause,
The backing track clicks on.
Something missed
Everyone is asking,
Shouting and whining,
Knocking on the door, Inside the head.
Feeding guilty-minded souls with small request slips.
You have what others want. Stuff.
Stuff; a pen, small change, an opinion, a vote, time.
Spend, sit, watch, listen, click, tick, be
Here.
Amidst all this cloying demand
The want it, take it wave of need
The give me, give me wheedle
The nicely, nicely begging
of “we’re only asking”
I am suspended.
Casting about this
Silence for a piece of me.
I gave away a piece of me, I gave it willingly but even in default mode,
There is a jumping, hiccuping, skipping over, a blip of incompleteness.
I give. I take. I’m not afraid to ask,
Just don’t know where to start looking
For this little piece of me that’s missing.
Everyone is asking, pleading, lying, jabbing fingers, banging with fists.
Why does it seem like it’s only me, Only me that’s
Looking for that little piece, the something, that’s missed.
© J. Brain 2010
