Prop

I watch you shoring up your father’s grief
a pit collapse, an act of spontaneous bravery
whilst waiting for the official help to arrive,
a frantic calm encamped around your sad eyes
masquerading gamely, taut as terror.

I haven’t forgotten your loss
your own crumbling cavern, where
carefully obscured, shuttered off
the falling shards pierce flesh unseen
weakening the mortar of your bold resolve

Hold on, I can hear the voices, see the lamps
albeit in the distant gloom,
you will be saved, carried into the light
the sweet air of tomorrow, but for now
press hard against your father’s chest.

© Graham Sherwood 02/2018

Widdershins

You were always one
to cut against the grain
kick against the pricks, or
dance naked in the rain,
ski off piste
row against a strong tide
sail close to the wind
the devil at your side,
push water uphill
call black out as white
put both hands in the fire
hide in plain sight,
but you couldn’t say I love you
without a wide grin
you couldn’t say I need you
share the trouble you were in,
so we all shook our heads
at your typical state
yes, we just raised our eyebrows
and now it’s too late.

Graham Sherwood 02/2018

Sadness

The optimism of Spring, breeds
the complacency of Summer
our melancholia through Autumn, prepares
death to rule the Winter

© Graham Sherwood 02/2018

For Harry O'Neill

I was urged to follow the wind

it spills wantonly seeking all corners

with its blue/grey breath, capricious

but I know where I should aim for, so

I lean into the stinging squall,

one shoulder lower to barge down a door.

I can change this weather,

when it knows I am no longer afraid

it will relent, make peace,

I will make the dark lighten

dilute the soporific gloom

a fresher breeze will breathe life

not suck it out, then

I will straighten up, find a horizon

and intend my arrival.

© Graham Sherwood 02/2018