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The Cruellest Month

THE CRUELLEST MONTH

On the twenty-first
Ten years ago
Your son
Claimed this annual
Memorial.

On the twenty-fifth
Two years ago
My wife
Stepped up
To take her own place.

Shoulder to shoulder they,
Shoulder to shoulder we.
Another burden,
Beacon, memorial.
Nothing but memory

Stands the test of time.
And some day
One day,
One fatal day
Not even that.

Holiday In Berlin: Republished

HOLIDAY IN BERLIN

The slow times between afternoon traffic
Cold coffee on bungalow verandahs
May sometimes serve to remind
Silk rustle of passing clouds
How once in laughter jetting
Above frail flutes of the ocean’s smile
Wan Europe and far away

To gray freeway boulevards of Berlin
For afternoon walks ginger-soft as cats
With smiles ever less frequent
And for some reason more and more drinking
Dwarf fools in a sad circus
Creating the right spectacle for them
Lay readers of the lesson

Stumbling the important words
Unsure repeating such words each morning
Parodies spraycan the scent of daisies
Chinese whispers total loss of meaning
Carrying it between two
Nervous to the breaking point
Too fragile a vase to save

From arrows of sleet or rain
Through dagger edge adventures
Between avenues of trees whose tired leaves
Only appeared distantly
For to disappear again
Though a tree is dead fungus will survive
Sitting through the dusk of putrefaction

Mildewed walls of cafés and hotel rooms
Daily decomposing and composing
Faded brown and smudged copy
Needed for long past deadlines
Like reporters of the nineteen thirties
Recording one another
In desperate impatience

Dumbly fumbling a bedroom door handle
Until sad days of doom now really dawned
Forced empty slipstream Atlantic returns
Where vapor trails reel two times
Across tangled cotton clouds
Three days apart and strangers
And the wet runways of final descent

Do glisten whose tyremarks are like tears
Descending the handshake passengerway
In the drizzle scarcely shaken from sleep
Opening eyes to look up at the sky
Just as now from bungalows
The sky will never seem the same again
(And of course it never did)

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

This poem has a soundtrack! It was composed while listening to the track sequence ‘Holiday In Berlin, Full-Blown > Aybe Sea’ (from Frank Zappa’s “Burnt Weeny Sandwich” album) set on ‘Repeat’. If you don’t own the album you can find the tracks on YouTube.

While listening, it’s not too hard to work out how the stanzas relate to each section of the music and vice versa.

Really it’s just your typical boy meets girl, boy loses girl scenario. Same old same old. (Or boy meets and loses boy, as there’s a nod or two to Christopher Isherwood.)

A verbal/musical movie for the mind (and heart). Enjoy.

Good Mourning: Shadorma

GOOD MOURNING

Deep sadness
A moment later
Peace returns
Let it be
Everything falls into place
As if it was meant

Leftovers

LEFTOVERS

Trying to use up
These bits and pieces
She never finished

Cornflour
Paper tissues
(Bless you)

I don’t use much of either
See, me, I prefer cotton
Prefer wholemeal

It’s eighteen months
And there’s plenty left yet
She doesn’t need them now

Attached: Senryu

ATTACHED

Miss you every day
Though my glass is half full
It is half empty

In Mourning Still: Shadorma

IN MOURNING STILL

He ventures,
“Here’s a suggestion:
Share laughter
Together.”
She points to the iron gates.
The sign reads “Keep Out”

Faded Photos: Cinqku

FADED PHOTOS

Lost love
Long past days
Present echoes
Whisper among the trees
Old news
…..
…..

Ladybird

LADYBIRD

Wings folded away
Ladybirds with just their legs
Can still move about

Dear Ones Lost

DEAR ONES LOST

Where are you now?
Where are you now?
Where are you now?

Missing you terribly
But that’s our fault
Not yours

Or is it?

Or else not?

For you are I
As I play you
In your absence

Asking where am I?
Asking where am I?
Asking where am I?

So What

SO WHAT

Go to hell? No probs
Been there already
Came back intact
A few hot baths
A few clockticktocks
And good as new

As the bell rings
For the next round
And round and round
And round we go
Waving, smiling
See you there

Waving back

Smiling back

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