April 10th

So we’ll grow old together, you and me,
with our memories and subtitles on the tv.
We’ll drink pots of tea on worn out wicker trays,
and remember our old hedonistic days.
We’ll recite of once ago and laugh;
of those nights we kept on drinking,
of our children in the bath.
We’ll stoop together, we’ll lose our hair,
and help each other on the stair.
And be driven mad by one another,
the way you can when you really love each other.
We’ll lose our glasses fifteen times a day
and when we do we’ll laugh and say; “Ok.”
I’ll shout to you “WE NEED MORE FLOUR”
But you’ll think I shouted “whats the hour?”
So you’ll shout back “IT'S NEARLY THREE”
And I’ll shout “NO, I DON’T WANT TEA”.
We’ll read the books, we’ll see the art
As side by side we fall apart.
My hand in yours - yours in mine
In this the Autumn of our time.
Our music and voices as loud as can be;
the volumes up, and subtitles on the tv.

April 5th; The Duckling and the Fly

On the banks of the River Wye
There lived a duckling and a Fly.
The Fly was always wide awake,
Scouring for picnickers with cake.
While Duckling had much less to do,
He'd splash about; it was all he knew!
One day, in the heat of June
a lazy, sunny afternoon
Duckling found that he was hungry
but found that he had little money.
He sulked on what he couldn't buy
Till he thought 'I'll ask my friend, the Fly!
I know he will for my good sake
share some of his delicious cake!’
And so the Duckling sought the Fly
and soon found him, by and by,
catching picnickers off their guard;
and eating all their choc roulade.
'Oh Fly, my dearest, sweetest friend
I know you'll help me in my end;
You see I have this fearful ache,
I think it must be filled by cake.'
The Fly she mused on Duck's request
and smoothed her smart silk scarlet vest
she gave the thing a good long think
then gave our Duck a gleaming wink.
'I'll help you to the cake you seek,
I'll help you out week after week.
I only ask for just one thing;
the beautiful plumage of your wings.
For every crumb give me a feather;
and I’ll fetch you cake whatever the weather!’
This made the Duckling cry with glee
'I have lots of those as you well see!'
And so right there the deal was struck
and both thought that they’d had great luck.
Fly would pinch, and filch, and steal
delicious cake for Duck's each meal.
Double Chocolate with Lemon curd,
Victoria sponge, and Batenburg!
Richest chocolate, Mr Kipling
Till Duck’s trim waistline started slipping.
And as as our little Duck grew fatter,
he gave his feathers on a platter
to that noble thief the Fly;
She was rich in them by and by.
One afternoon as he struggled to swim
Duck noticed his plumage had got quite thin.
‘Perhaps I should start to resist;
I’ll give up cake, and it won’t be missed!’
But in his dreams, his daemons came
He could smell icing; flavoured and plain.
His bed was a brownie on a plate
assaulted by armies of fairy cakes!
Our Ducking woke up in a sweat
and in his fear the addict wept.
He desperately swam to Fly
(the water lapped up to his eye)
and by and by
he woke that Fly
and screamed for Icing!
Sugared Pie!
and begged to let him
Taste an Try
just ANYthing;
‘Oh my oh my
my dearest, sweetest, handsome Fly
just dab a little on the side
let me Lick it! Sniff it!
Let me Sigh!
give me my peace and
let me lie.’
That hairy Fly looked sad and wry
Rubbing her hands together she smiled;
‘Oh my dear Duckling, foolish child.
You know the game, you know my rules,
Give me the feathers; I’ll give you food.’
Duckling sobbing snapped his quills
giving them up to the Fly’s cruel will.
He gorged himself on Banoffee pie
and then quite naked tried to fly.
He couldn’t, he had not one feather,
he was naked; pink and bare like leather.
His sore goose pimpled punctured skin
was utterly raw from his tail to his chin.
Ugly now; cold to the bone
he tried to swim back to his home.
He shivered weeping to the bank
but as he swam; our Duckling sank.
For without his stunning feather coat
he flailed and thrashed to stay afloat,
he wailed and screeched, he screamed for aid,
whist Fly grinned murmured ‘I am made!’
Now the water’s just above his chest,
His chin, his beak and nothing next...
For there was now naught left of that Duckling
Save an ominous gurgle and stream of bubbling.
Sigh, dear Reader, your heart must be sore;
Our dearest Duckling is no more.
But the ending is happy, don’t be sad,
you’ll see; theres joyfulness to be had!
Remember that our world is rife
with that glorious thing; The Circle of Life!
Fly saw Duckling again, so they say,
in fact; it was the very next day.
His body washed up on the side;
a bare limp form of broken pride.
Fly sweeped down with quite a grin,
and began to nibble at his skin.
In just a few days time
the eggs she laid in him were prime,
and from deflated Duckling crawl
a thousand lavae; sweet and small.
So Duckling did not die in vain,
though he wasted it with folly,
to give one life for many,
why! Thats positively jolly!

April 4th: An Inadequate Apology

An Inadequate Apology

Words come easily to me. So I’ll bake a cake.

I can flesh out bullet points. I can summon a string

of substance-less syllables at a moments notice,

and no matter how much I mean them; 

they won’t matter. Because they’re words.

And words come easily to me.

And so I’ll bake a cake. I’ll work it out.

And I’ll get it wrong. And work it out again.

I’ll confuse sugar for flower, 

chocolate for raisins,

milk for water,

cream for icing

and butter for breadcrumbs.

I’ll curse over ovens. And rant over recipes.

And make a terribly poor cake.

Because I’m sorry.

And words come easily to me.

April 3rd; Student Living

Student Living

The mice, the mice are in my house

the creep and scuttle all about

they keep quite quiet, they make no fuss;

there’s more of them then there are of us.

The mice, the mice are in my shoes

a place to scratch and take their poos

they scamper round my bed at night

I lie awake and curse my plight.

The mice, the mice are all around

I shudder when I hear their sound

those ghostly malice driven shrieks;

that sound of conquest in their squeaks.

The mice, the mice are in my head

they slipped in whilst I slept in bed

They tantalise me with such ease

as they command I go buy cheese.

2nd April; Anticipating a Neice

Anticipating a neice 

You’re brewing. Comfortably I hope.

Growing, feeling, bracing yourself for 

some untold terror you can’t place

your fingers on. Because you don’t have any.

What do you have? A mind.

Semi-conscious, of warmth, hunger,

movement, music. There’ll be much

more of that. You’ll like the music.

You’ll be a scrunched up 

bawling ball of joy. Tiny,

red fisted, heavy lidded,

10-1 you’ll look like Churchill.

And for years you’ll stay that way

save for the novelty of a step here,

a word there. A fall, a giggle

and perhaps a smile.

But one day, whoever you are,

Be you shy, sly, sinful, sad,

joyful, upstart, bouncy, glad

Be you rebellious

Be you dum,

Be you joyous,

Be you glum

Whoever you might be; whatever you do;

You’ll have an uncle waiting for you.

April 1st

1st April

To me, death is distant. 

He’s an abstract figure from a cult horror film,

he’s a far off twinkle with macabre glamour.

Death is sexy. Edgy. Riske. I suppose he’s rather cool.

To my father, death is a reality. 

As one by one it claims a fatality.

If he looks about him whilst he’s feeling sore

he sees friends that just aren’t there anymore.

Parents, who can’t scold. Teachers who can’t bore.

Children who can’t strive. Spouses who can’t snore.

For him, death is too real.

Ever present. Ever pressing. 

Always testing. Always waiting.