Yellow

The schools shut in the UK yesterday. I went to the gates to collect my younger son. I was worried i would cry. But, as i got there i saw the daffodils bobbing in the breeze, their petals escaping around the green iron bars of the school fence. They were peeping out, saying ‘can we come too?’….normally its so busy i don t ever see the yellow trumpets but yesterday they struck me. I stood there and wrote this poem . It helped articulate the jumble of feelings i had inside.

Hand in….

To an evening adventure….a poetry society workshop. We listened to poems about objects and then had a crack at making poems about some of the fascinating objects tha ad been brought along… I chose the glove stretchers…

Madness, really

The lengths we go

Skin held tight tight

So blood won’t flow

And tools invented

That actually prevented

Movement.

Fetching.

Stretching

Once on

The kid would grip

Dainty dancing tips

Of fingers numb

Their wearers dumb.

As yet

No etiquette

For bare hands

To run the gauntlet

Timing

This poem is about how things can twist and change so easily and wondering what would happen if we could ‘backdate’ an encounter

Sometimes when I am sitting

Drinking coffee

Dreaming of you

I imagine what it would be like

If we could turn back the clocks

To when we were not pitted and scarred

By the tiny cuts and pricks of disappointment and lost hope

When our eyes shone bright

And we saw light and laughter as our due

not as a bonus

A special offer

But on tap. Limitless

I like to think that if we’d met in those early times

I would have recognised your worth

Your goodness and honesty

Pushing you forward

Shouting “me! Me!”

As i lazily fished.

Or did we need the lows to signpost this high?

Did sadness and pain provide strange relief?

Perhaps

But now is now

And quite how

We got here is not key

What really counts

What lights my heart

Is loving you as you love

Me

Identity theft

We all are meant to have a tribe

a family that we can live inside

a group who understands our ways

Accepting us

And yet these days

It seem to me that this coherence

Is suffering mass interference

We don’t sit down and talk direct

We click and type on t’internet

And it is easy for us

to believe

That what we share

can true love weave.

Under the shelter of our screens

We share our secrets and our dreams.

We think we know to whom we type.

We think the warnings are just hype.

And then

The cut

The slice

The hack

And we remember

What didn’t stack

We see through lies

We see straight in

Naivity was our big sin.

We see how tricks made us judge badly

And share with those who now seem, sadly

To be real crooks.

Not tribe.

Not kin.

You were not heard.

My sage advice?

A strong password.

Patience

Having Parkinsons means I have to learn patience….one day….

Wait with me

While I tremble

Wait with me

While I falter

Wait with me

While I regroup

While I reset

While I restart

Wait with me

Or not

I will be here

Until I can walk

Elsewhere.