When you were a lop eared rabbit
and I was a battered old bear
we rattled around the countryside
In an unbalanced three wheel cart.
On a whim you broke my heart.
But when my arm dropped off
and all my straw stuffing fell out
you pushed it all back in.
Only a very good friend would care enough to do that.
there they go
in the street,
walking shoulder to shoulder,
this man thinking
it will soon be over,
this man killing his friend
I pick my way through a battered box,
Full of old ideas and notebooks.
Finding none of the spiders I feared
But two ladybirds, dusty and dead,
Were buried beneath the old books.
They didn’t fly away home.
Amongst all the papers are poignant pages
I made for a lover long years ago.
I had borrowed it back.
It was never returned,
It wasn’t requested or missed.
It was full of small painting
Done with great care
But the poems I’d written weren’t there.
The last thing I found
Was two stained serviettes
I’d scribbled my thoughts on one day in a pub
As my friend slumped asleep in a chair
Escaping his life through an emptying glass.
It made no difference whatever I said.
He was drinking his life away.
Soon he’ll be dead, I am sure.
There are worn travel journals,
India, Morocco and Poland all carefully stored,
Some interesting stuff, full of days I forgot
And pictures, quite beautiful,
Carefully hand drawn in Wales.
It shocks me, as always,
When I find my statement
Made to police, one traumatic day.
I wish I could throw it away.
The terrors described are wiped from my head
Like words from a novel I’m unable to write.
It’s humid now.
I feel stifled for air.
Sick of dusty old boxes
I look out of the window.
The leaves outside flutter and tremble
As they always do, before a big storm.
They aren’t sure which way the wind blows.
Neither am I, today.
in the midst of a storm of thunder
when hail stones fell from dark skies
a child came crawling to me
he came to me from his mother
sent into my protection
he was little more than a babe
i stopped and stooped to lift him
i looked into his soft little face
i saw bright eyes full of wonder
he seemed made of wonder and grace
i placed him onto my back
i told him to cling very tight
but he flung himself backward to earth
beyond where my hands could reach
i turned and raised him again
held him in tender embrace
i explained he had to be strong
for a journey
arduous
long
but we’d be safe
in the end
he smiled at me
like a friend
The Mad Hatter sees
to the deeply crazed core, the heart of the matter.
When he dropped in today , escaping the rain,
I was thrilled and delighted to see him again
When you look at the world in a different way
There is wonder, adventure, in each new born day
Mad, a bit sad, never bad
He’s the truest friend I ever had
Next time it rains I hope he comes back
He reminds me so much of something I lack
It’s always good to have a long natter
There is wisdom aplenty in tea time chatter
I have a horse I trust and rely on
I feed him, groom him, love him.
I stroke him, he nuzzles my ear.
My heart is gladdened when i see him
When i approach he comes without call.
We move as one in the wind
In a harmonious motion and rhythm
To ride him is pleasure and joy
If he were a wild cat trapped in a corner,
Or a scorpion entering my tent at night,
I would not feel this trust and calmness,
No affection would shine in my glance.
I might expect to sustain a wound,
A wound that might even be mortal.
But my horse is not a cat or a scorpion,
He is my friend and companion.
So the wound from my beautiful horse,
When he suddenly turned and kicked me,
Hurt more than scorpions’ sting or tiger claw.
I don’t know where this blow sprang from,
Some hurt of his own perhaps.
Now we look at each other a little askance
And I wonder how to approach him again.
I only know I must heal this
This healing is bound with my love of him
But my wound is still open and sore.
An enemy is expected to hurt us
We guard against the attack
But when a creature cherished and loved
Gives the blow and the hurt
This wound ploughs a furrow far deeper
It strikes straight and strong to the heart.
The Dreaming Path 