It’s summer and a kind person got in touch to ask for another copy of my book ‘Shedding Feathers’. She’s lent her first copy out to someone, but can’t remember who. So in way of celebrating her generosity, here is a poem from that book. ‘The Shoaling’ refers to the sudden beaching of whitebait that happens along our Start Bay coastline in August.
should you like a copy of ‘Shedding Feathers’ (published by Hen Run, Grey Hen Press £4) then do get in touch on my email: firstname.lastname@example.org
So early it’s still almost dark out. I’m near the window with coffee, and the usual early morning stuff that passes for thought. When I see the boy and his friend walking up the road to deliver the newspaper. They wear caps and sweaters, and one boy has a bag over his shoulder. They are so happy they aren’t saying anything, these boys. I think if they could, they would take each other’s arm. It’s early in the morning, and they are doing this thing together. They come on, slowly. The sky is taking on light, though the moon still hangs pale over the water. Such beauty that for a minute death and ambition, even love, doesn’t enter into this. Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really, any early morning talk about it.
I want to send out a big thank you to Joy Howard and her Grey Hen Press for these latest poetry anthologies and her generosity in including my poems in them. They are available now at £5 each from http://www.greyhenpress.com
My friend Anne has planned her funeral.
She wants bright colours,
All the colours of the rainbow,
Beach wear and party glitter,
Pink feather boas and dancing,
Cocktails and music and laughter,
Because, she says, ‘Life is a chase,
A dream; why not celebrate,
Obscure the hate,
Spread joy in the moment before it’s too late
To expose the beauty that lies deep within
Every pristine soul?’
Have you ever heard such bollocks?
I want sobbing at my funeral.
Mourners dressed in black, sobbing,
In an austere church with such bad acoustics
That all you can hear is sobbing.
I want horses with those black tassels on their heads,
And I want the horses to look sad,
And if possible I want the horses to be sobbing, too.
I want dreary music, and just when it sounds Like the dreary music is about to…