Tag: writing

Trails of Tiny Bones

A small tin coffin rests in my pocket
as I drag a frail cart of baggage to the car
we don't have much time remaining here
in this curious copse of growth and grind

Shall I do it like in The Shawshank Redemption
surreptitious sprinkling of dust with each step
but an amount equivalent to only one foot
or an ear perhaps, or maybe half a tail

Should I promptly plop it into the soggy fire pit
how long do I have to cradle it in my palm first
without this ritual being disturbed, interrupted,
and what on earth is the right way to do this anyway

I could ask the weary wood pigeons
who awoke so early, helplessly moaning, 
or I might just empty the tin into a badger set
endless options, like the duties of parenthood

How is it that the choices and tasks, which follow
our pivotal 'big bang' events of life and death
can become quite so separating and hollow
these chores, chiseling away at our castle walls

I try to grab gravity by the hand and it recoils
thus, if I slowly dip my parted fingers 
into the fluvial flow and flux of existence 
would that nourish the watery portals within

Travelling inward can sometimes get us lost in the Universe
without the creatures and roots and relics to guide us
this might be a winding path to nowhere, except
to return to the echoing cave where we started 

We are no longer at an end, or in a new beginning
instead we find ourselves amidst a meandering middle
so why not walk awhile, with the fond memories of those
black-white-speckled paws, pattering along the forest floor

Earlier I glimpsed, in the fleeting sunshine
the shadowy shapes of hooded tweenagers
heavily laden with the adults' requests for 'help'
oblivious to the rainbow arching over their heads 

and I heard the voices of the medium children
whimsically wittering to the trees behind the cabin
where, I know, a sloth-like pyjama'd boy remains under
a blanket, consuming yesterday's leftover burnt sausages

All there is left to do now then
and for no particular known reason 
is to take out the tiny tin travel case
pause to carefully open the lid...

start to pinch the grey gravel pieces
bit by bit, releasing them from their 
bed of ash, and onto the carpeted trails
which wander and weave around the pines

A ten minute interval from the trials of the day
the dreary dramas of family life and strife
at the end of a wet, windy weekend away
in the middle of the Easter holidays

May 2, 2026

Love International

Birds, tea 
Horses, and the sea
You liked cars, we saw stars
These are the things I remember

You travelled, to unravel
She was walking alone
We never got very far
Talking about home

But most of the time
We got on just fine
Wittering under 
the willow tree

What's in the wheelbarrow?

You sailed away...
The 'wrong' way around the world 
What's the right way to unfurl
like a fern?

We waited for you
Back at the farm
Watching The Simpsons 
The glimpses of family

Walls of water in your way
Dreaming machines everyday
Followed by a whale
Around Cape Horn

You gave me a stone frog
And my first sip of cider 
You got lost in Rotorua
I met a penguin and a koala

Finally, severed by the Atlantic,
and by that fateful night.
While you searched for me,
it was already too late.

Then we fell off the mountain.

'This ain't my first rodeo',
you said, playing Roulette 
at the cruise ship casino.
I preferred you in the Rockies,
being a real cowboy

From Yorkshire to Boston
(via Midlands & the ocean)
From scrum-half to a golfer
Cricket bats to baseball caps
Barn owls to red cardinals
From cigar smoke in
the 'Gentleman's Lounge'
To dressing in Drag
at the P-Town carnival
Always full of surprises

Radiation, Cryoablation, Radicalisation

World's End, Massachusetts
You still couldn't bend 
your titanium spine 
A terminator, but mine

You stopped climbing the stairs
To your walk-in closet, while...
the 'far right' were marching
We turned left to Marylou's

CNN blaring, 
how could you bear it? 
The morphine was caring.
The dogs at your feet, lying still

You looked like a ghost 
at the kids' pool party,
Relegated to the shadows
My heart sobbing in the shallows

Or was it the deep end?

Now I can wear your coat
And board a boat, only
to visit you by the lighthouse
But of course you are everywhere

The dust of you settles 
on the ocean floor,
merging with earth, 
and travelling to your tree.

Cup o' tea?
Come see yer Dad
But where was the chat?
(only in tea labels and board games)
In between the flickers of the candle flame

The flicker of a candle flame
A candle flame
And blow
Now Go

(Inspired by spring… finished for Father’s Day)

June 14, 2025