And Now For Something Completely Different

You ever have one of those weeks where your children don't sleep? At all. And everything you plan to do at night when they're in bed - all those selfish things you do for yourself, like blog, don't get done?

Yeah. I'm having one of those. So although I want to respond to the comments on my last post and I also wanted to get a post up for World Poetry Day, I haven't and I didn't.

Better late than never right?

I was working on something else but it's turning out good enough that I might submit it somewhere. So can't share with ye lot. Sorry. You get one from the dustbin instead. Pleased? I'm sure you are.

An Ocean of Contrary

My son is an array
of outward tags and haphazard buttons
gaudily adorned with
hasty, crooked tie and
blanketswept hair.

School mornings are misery:
face fogged with the envy
of unpossessed playmates,
pockets stuffed with
provoking toys.

At night he becomes
a squawking seagull:
voice shrilling down darkened hallway;
wings beating against the mattress.
The blanket lifts in the sweep of them.

Morning  spits out
 a flagged turtle.
Stilted and slow his eyes shatter open.
Hatred pours from his surface
like the smell of tar in summer.

Front door open and shoulder
slung with day’s weapons,
his wave freezes in crescendo
as he smiles the words I love you,
and screams at the gathering snow.

1 comment:

  1. Yeah. You got the gift, baby.

    That's very spiky but somehow produly nurturing too.


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