beginnings
so it ends
yet what follows
has not begun
possibility exists
in the spaces
in between
as life stirs
in the belly
of winter
I think of you as a tree
(IM Jim)
Ringed with experience,
crinkled with care,
holding all of our names close
to your heart
as we danced around you in
pleasure; shared
fears as you reached, branches
laden with art,
captured with loving eyes,
etched in the skies;
launching melodies on the
breeze, always
hitting just the right
note. Roots, undisguised,
deep in the river's edge,
hoping for ways
to slow its flow whilst you drank
in the view.
So, we all grabbed a pew to
wish and pray
for so much we couldn't say
lest you knew
how we feared what the
swelling banks conveyed.
Uprooted, we, at sea; you:
homeward bound,
held forever within a gentle
sound.
Apple tart and Lemon Meringue
Pie
I’d make them on a Saturday night
in the hope of my uncle visiting.
By nine, if he hadn’t shown,
Dad might call him,
this wee girl’s been baking
for you.
An hour later, his warmth cut through
the cold walls of grief that surrounded us.
Laughter, warm, like a fire crackling
reflected in our eyes; even Dad’s
granite features gradually softened.
The bitterest of flavours remain tart,
even when sweetened.
"I Touched You”
It was spoken like a confession
as if seeking absolution
for breaking the rules of social distance,
just one instance.
Emerging from lockdown
for a socially distanced coffee, a full embrace
would have bookended our meeting
but this new normal required different social graces.
Contact, like water trembling
around this huge boulder
of fear that we all now shoulder,
longing its touch yet missing it so, so much
we dam our flow, building defences
that defy our own senses.
Dispensing with hugs
to show how much we care,
dispatching kisses into thin air,
wrapping arms around ourselves.
We're compelled to express the unspoken
amidst everything that's broken
to offer a token of what would normally
be pressed on skin.
Quite a task, through a mask
and steamed up glasses,
amidst the masses of signals
that we no longer transmit or receive
and yet we still believe in communing,
still fine tuning how we intermingle.
Tricky if we're single seeking a mate, partner, friend
–
just how do you tell and tend
those gentle expressions of love?
I search for clues in my companion.
Stance, bearing, are the shoulders defeated
like snow boughed branches
or open to perching happenstances?
The eyes, like doors welcome me in
and
the cheeks plumped like pillows feathered with grins.
The
voice, indulgent with words that could cushion a fall,
full
and mellow with the warmth of a shawl.
All this I feel, without having to trace
the wrapping of kindness, the skin on his face.
And yet, I too, feel myself reach from within
but I brake my intent, lest I place risk on him.
We part, and I internalise my concern
that his yearn for touch may leave him more
susceptible
to the unacceptable - which to him is isolation.
Yes, yes, you really touched me.
Karen Mooney - Her poetry has been published in USA, UK and Ireland. Her co-written
pamphlet with Gaynor Kane, Penned In, was published in 2020 by the Hedgehog Poetry
Press who will be published her own pamphlet, Missing Pieces, in Spring ’22.
Karen Mooney
Co-author of Penned In
Presenter at NVTV
No comments:
Post a Comment