Archive for November, 2013

Full Moon Over The Psychiatric Ward

Posted in Poetry on November 27, 2013 by belfastdavid

A full moon drifts
across a cloudless sky:
the curtains are closed.

Quiet footprints, only detectable
because of the night’s silence
as the tired nurse makes his
4:00am circuit of the ward
striving to stay alert during
the longest o’clock of his shift.

Restlessness seeps under the door
of one room as the sleeper dreams
of her place at the centre
of society, allows her mind to flow
across the colours she will use
to paint her nails in the morning.

Gentle pleasure slides out from another;
the sleeper dreams of his girl-friend
(a figment entirely of his imagination)
as she talks to him of their life together
and he tells her about the flowers
he will plant in their garden.

Fear – great galloping horses of fear,
charges round another room.
Its occupant is trapped
somewhere deep inside the Matrix
as he is throughout his day, and will
remain so until the moon wanes.

The lady in the next room is not sleeping.
She is listening to the walk of the nurse,
plotting what time she can creep out
and into the room of the young man
down the corridor.

He meanwhile
is in deep dreamless sleep,
unaware of what will happen
in the next few hours.


Siren Song

Posted in Poetry on November 14, 2013 by belfastdavid

Sing to me again as you sang to me
before. Sing to me again that same song
which drew me in toward you, enchanted
by your sweet voice, the simple melody.

But this time please, don’t sing to me of love,
everlasting devotion, walking off
together hand in hand toward the sun
and living happily ever after.

Sing to me instead of companionship,
trips to galleries, walks by the river,
drinking coffees in favourite cafes,
days out in Whitby talking to the gulls,

And long, slow, afternoons, between the sheets,
making gentle uncomplicated love.

How to embarrass your sons

Posted in Poetry with tags on November 12, 2013 by belfastdavid

Research has shown that almost all children are embarrassed by their fathers and, during their teenage years, almost all of the time.

The trick is not to be resentful of this fact, but rather embrace it and behave in such a way as to fulfil their expectation of being embarrassed.

Wearing a white, knitted, Aran hat with a bobble on the top is a good start.
Particularly if you also wear your very favourite coat, which is older than they are and is beginning to fray at the edges.

Skipping whilst you are out walking beside them will ensure glances all round to make sure no-one else is looking.

When going to the beach be sure to take a large white handkerchief. Tying knots in the four corners and putting it on your head to keep off the sun will keep them well away.
Playing keepy-uppy with a football when wearing only a bathing costume will work nearly as well.

Dragging their mother on to the dance floor to do the jive at family gatherings will lead to them denying they know who you are.

Some days just being is enough.

And don’t forget you always hold a trump card  –  you have a speech to make at their wedding.
Although my son threatened to retaliate by including in his speech the poem by Philip Larkin which begins “They fuck you up your Mum and Dad”.

Rock ‘n’ Roll

Posted in Poetry with tags on November 4, 2013 by belfastdavid

Do you remember
way back then when you and I
could clear the dance floor;
everyone else
looked on, applauded.

Those early days
of rock n roll
when we were freed
from formal dance
and jive was all the rage.

Never a romance,
yet we could form
a union on the dance floor,
instinctive, intuitive;
we were as one.

I wonder now
what would have happened
had we formed another bond;
for sure we flirted round it,
but never crossed that line.

Where are you now?
I do not, cannot, know
but every now and then
I play the music;
am back on the dance floor
with fifty years off my age
and we dance now
as we did then.