First Steps

This year he would have laughed and tried
to stand on tiptoe - arms stretched out
to me, he'd stumble to my side.
Holding my hands he'd bounce and shout
with joy and absolute delight.

And then we'd swing him to and fro,
run through the woods, kick fallen leaves
and watch the squirrels come and go.
Red scarf and hat and cheeks so bright.

Last year he left us, one dark night.
No first steps here, but up in some
Elysian Fields he'll run. He'll play
with children who have joined the Light.

That's what they say, to comfort me,
to make me feel that he's all right.

But when I'm walking in the woods
and think of him, I have a sign -
I feel a small cold hand in mine.

The Picnic
A Shakespearean Sonnet

When we had settled down upon the grass,
unpacked the baskets, set out all the plates,
we opened up the wine. Each had a glass
and drank to Bacchus and to all the Fates.
Then came the olives, figs and bread and cheese
with luscious grapes that thrived on Pompeii's farms.
We ate our fill and took life at our ease,
talking of money and our young girls' charms.
Far better to have flung libations down
and prayed the Gods would shield us from all fire.
Our families and our houses in the town
were buried in the dreadful funeral pyre.
So though we young men had our carefree day.
Fates and the Furies took our loves away.

Present to the Past
A Pantoum

From that room overlooking the garden,
Mother and Father bending over the roses,
I saw my brothers unaware of me,
talking and laughing in a private way.

Mother and Father bending over the roses
in that long ago childhood watching,
talking and laughing in a private way
observed and happily understood.

In that long ago childhood watching
I knew I was there but solitary.
Observed and happily understood
I studied myself in the oval mirror

I knew I was there but solitary,
no-one would ever know me like this.
I studied myself in the oval mirror,
aware that all must be remembered.

No-one would ever know me like this.
I still see now the hazel eyes
aware that all must be remembered -
my face, my heartbeat, my breath.

I still see now the hazel eyes,
the memory is there for ever -
my face, my heartbeat , my breath.
Myself at nine, a wonderful age.

The memory is there forever.
Hot sun and the scent of the flowers,
myself at nine, a wonderful age,
all kept as a gift for the future.

Hot sun and the scent of the flowers,
from that room overlooking the garden,
all kept as a gift for the future.
I saw my brothers unaware of me.

Mother and Father bending over the roses,
talking and laughing in a private way.

Aliens

They were totally blue, in full headlight
and gave off a luminous sparkling light.
They leant to earth, as if it were strange
to feel gravity's pull and had to arrange
their new legs and bodies to look correct,
but didn't quite manage to stand erect.
One of them looked at us and raised
something like hands, as if he praised
our metallic body and headlights bright.
As we flashed by they dissolved into night.

Afternoon On the Moors

What was that drumming?
Not noise, but pounding,
It woke me from my deep sleep
In the shade and the scent of the gorse.
My heart?
No.
Shaking in rhythm, clearer now,
Thud thud,
Thud thud.
What rattle of iron on iron, iron on stone?
Voices now, rough talk and curses.
Shouts to friends and laughing replies.
Songs start, gather strength, voices add to voices
till all is sound, shouting and singing
with a thud, thud! Click clickety!
Those bootstuds hitting the ground in rhythm.
Horses neighing and clatter of harness,
Wheels rumble over cobbles,
baggage carts jolt and sway.
Barefoot children run to see the troops,
marching alongside them they cheer and wave.
The voices ring out -
Up and away, over the heather, over the moors to Whitby...
We'll get there before dark, and make a night of it!.
Watch out, shopkeepers, we are coming!
Bring out your jet, your brooches, your rings.
Set up some good wine and olives...
Cooks bring on your platters of fish and bread,
We are here, hungry and would eat!
Now for the girls!
Those women that said they would wait for us -
come on then - show us how patient you've been!
Laughter and whistling,
fading a little now as they go over the brow of the hill.
There they are, their song is carried on the wind, listen -
but the sound floats away.
With my ear to the ground
I can still hear the thud, thud of booted feet
marching over the hills to the sea.

Stretched out on the turf beside this old stony by-way,
I heard them - I saw them in the half light
on the ancient Roman road.