The official blog of Nessie A.W. Easton
I wrote this in response to a poem that I had the privilege to watch Lemn Sissay recite last Thursday. If you haven’t read his work, I would certainly recommend that you do so.
So here it is…
For love I let you go
So you would have things I could never provide
I would have given you love in spades
But on love alone, we can’t thrive.
So don’t tell me I didn’t love you enough
I have an ocean of love just for you
and I carry a void wherever I go
This void in the shape of you
Time swam like a fish
all blurred lines
and go-faster stripes
Even dull drawn-out days
disappeared in clumps
Those days of headaches
and eyes strained from staring
hour upon hour
at obnoxious screens
You’d think they’d drag!
Wouldn’t you? But no,
the brakes on life had jammed and so
they all just whizzed on past her
until there was nothing but
the sharp end of life to crash
head on into.
They made themselves comfortable
locked away all ambition
turned their backs on risk
playing safe by their own admission
Wholly frightened by adventure
avoiding big emotions
They lingered in their own back yard
snubbed the calling oceans
Ignorant of how to live
a magnificent existence
the lure of pure excitement
countered by fearful resistance
Half happy in their domain
achieving microscopic dreams
living a small life
tasting the milk, never the cream
Awaiting an epiphany
to rouse them from their slumber
to save them from the dull old-age
they’d planned upon since youngsters
Ensconsed in the weightless azul
I float
blanketed by
the ceylon sky
Bubbles nibble
gently at my ears
as I lay here
prone
A starfish
Then a cross
bathed in healing waters
An aquatic cocoon
where all preoccupation
dissolves
The emotion-shaping balance board
often given a wide berth
capable of such destruction
poor self worth
enormous hurt
depression
and revoltion
a reality check
such tension
or the long-awaited jolt
needed to trigger revolution
If you’re willing to let it
guide you
not abuse you
spur you on
allow the figures to seduce you
into a state of independence
backed up with wisened choices
actually following a regime
not just making the right noises
if you treat it as a friend
listen to it’s prudent voices
you’ll reach a peaceful place
where you’re not fearful
and avoid it
A state of cooperation
being valiant
not coy
then you’ll stare into the mirror
and revel in the joy
A crushed velvet corridor
Plump and green
Studded with the yellow stones
Of cottages with small windows
A deserted Ashton Keynes
No sign of any residents
Only cars lazing in drives
Grasses and nettles
50 miles per hour signs
Rush past me
Under the grey-blue sky
Bats and bright red telephone boxes
A large leaping hare
Scoots up the road
Foxes?
Seemingly unafraid
Then darts right
Into a hedge-edged field
Milk churn advertisement
Fronting a barn
Fresh eggs sold here
At this time of the evening
The eggs are all gone
And the honesty box, emptied
awaits another day’s slow trade
I didn’t choose to come this way
The choice was made
By the highway’s agency
And I’m glad they did
For the detour,
I feel more balanced
With a sense that life
Is calm and good.
I watched my car swim past today
As it breaststroked down the road
Upon opening the curtains
I’d found the world had overflowed
The weatherman had told us
That the forecast was quite grim
He’d talked of impending deluges
And the squalliest of winds
I’d gone to bed and thought to myself
‘Just how bad can it get?’
Precipitation doesn’t bother me
Neither does getting wet
Unbeknownt to me
Whilst I was wrapped in blissful slumber
The rains became a monsoon
Which truly was not cumbered
I shall miss the trips I had in her
My shiny set of wheels
The tempest came and claimed her
Alongside countless other automobiles
So now to reach the shops
I’m going to have to take a dip
Past all the sunken residences
The effluent and shit
Maybe I’ll get a dinghy
And captain my ship to work
I’ll head out and face the brouhaha
I won’t be seen to shirk
The experts have predicted
we’ll be seeing more extreme weather
Resistant to changing lifestyles
It won’t get any better
Hence, we’ll have to grow accustomed
To our new aquatic land
Swap the Corsa for a cutter
Before it all gets out of hand
Excitement immediately starts to set in
Long-abandoned cases
descend their home in the loft
Too many seasons they’d lain
Abandoned
Neglected
Not a hint of adventure
No destination selected
undusted, unneeded, superfluous, rejected
Without notice they were packed
All ready for the off
Bundled into boot spaces
Blocking the rear view
Bursting with enthusiasm
to experience the new
To travel meandering valleys and plains
Scale mountains
Cross oceans
Drive thoroughfares and lanes
To explore and enjoy
this earth’s varied terrains
Because finally,
we’re so very
ready for the off.
Ominous music plays gently in the background
Thunder rumbles softly overhead
I hear your voice and the chuckling of your laughter.
“I’m going to ask you a question
and you won’t like it!”
“Are you ready?”
The end is drawing very near
Indistinct conversations play out in Nirvana
“Time to say the necessary, but
I wouldn’t want to embarrass you”
“Just keep your eyes on the horizon”
then you whisper “dust to dust”
And my heart stops
Still
Stuck
And I’m grieving
It’s my grief
God help me. Look…
at these amazing angels
In the middle of Frogmore Street
a little boy about four years old
stands crying.
Forlornly holding an empty wafer cornet
in his tightly clenched hand.
Clumps of tears descending his cheeks;
he wails and he stares deflatedly
at the two lumps
of defrosting vanilla soft scoop
as they relax
all over the adjacent paving slabs
In spite of his mother’s best efforts
to cheer him
the boy stands inconsolable.
His attempts to munch
on the remaining cone
impeded by his continued, rasping sobs
As passers by,
our hearts bleed for him
Collectively, we relive our own disappointments.
We hurt for him,
witnesses of life lashing out with its first licks knowing that this will be just one
of a series of occasions when life
in all its cruelty
will attempt to knock him down.
Poetry for Dullards