Russell Brand talks about Revolution
His mother must be proud after all,
fighting addiction isn’t easy. Clean now,
his intelligence, quick as fish, darts fast.
Her brave boy, thrown helter skelter bipolar,
finds ground.
Fear travels quickly, love a little slower.
Expressive, misunderstood,
the cynic’s clown,
the people’s narcissist
but bearing witness,
sharing truth.
Do you step up?
poem by Rose Cook
published on http://poetry-24.blogspot.co.uk/
‘A poem expresses one’s most private feelings, and these turn out to be the feelings of everyone else as well.’ Galway Kinnell
For I can snore like a bullhorn or play loud music or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman and Fergus will only sink deeper into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash, but let there be that heavy breathing or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house and he will wrench himself awake and make for it on the run—as now, we lie together, after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies, familiar touch of the long-married, and he appears—in his baseball pajamas, it happens, the neck opening so small he has to screw them on— and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep, his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child. In the half darkness we look at each other and smile and touch arms across this little, startlingly muscled body— this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making, sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake, this blessing love gives again into our arms.
Rose Cook 