A poem

Another new poem:

every grief is the first grief
dredged up from the depths where I buried it

every grief is a reminder
of what’s lost, what’s gone
of gaps and tender places in the mind

every grief is an obstacle course
of everyday objects that now mean more
by meaning “less”
by recollections of the departed
meaning infused so personally that it confuses others
– why should a frog make me cry? –
a glimpse, a sound, a memory
bringing loss in their wake
not just this loss, but every loss
stacked one upon another in a skyscraper of sorrow

because every grief is the first grief
every grief is the only grief
every grief breaks me a little more
because I never remember sadness
every time is the first, but worse
and every time it’s harder to overcome
harder to get back

every grief is the first grief
and it doesn’t get better with experience
I have never levelled up
I have never learnt how to cope
how to push it down and move on
only how to run and hide
hoping time will blunt the edges of pain
before it drowns me

every grief is the first grief

© bardofupton 2018

A new poem

Inspired by the heatwave:

heat
dripping from my skin
sliding down my neck
smothering me
in a cocoon of hot dampness
rendering me exhausted
unable to think
of anything else
skin sticks to skin
slick with sweat
mute with misery
waiting
for rain

© bardofupton 2018

if i had known (poem)

This one was written about 4 years ago:

if i had known it was
the last time
would i have still been angry
or would i have made the effort
to say 
i loved you?

if
	i
		had
k
 n
   o
     w
        n
would it have been different?

if i had known
would you be here still
or would i lose you anyway?

if i had known
would you 
would you
would you?

if i had known
i
	would
		have 
			said 
				something
wouldn't i?
© bardofupton 2018

Into the Future (poem)

I wrote this one a couple of years ago:

Walking blindly into the future
because I loved you
because I trusted you
because you were holding my hand

Failing to recognise that
taking no action is an action
failing to choose is a choice
staying on the path is a direction

Taking so long to learn
that every second is a decision
that not changing is a choice
that my future is my own

Walking blindly into the future
I looked back at the past
I saw all my decisions
and I

      let go your hand
© bardofupton 2018

Another poem

I wrote this one a couple of months ago:

Looking back at the darkness I used to contain
and realising that somehow I walked into the light
without knowing
somehow I overcame without knowing I was fighting
I swam to shore but didn’t know I’d been drowning
coming alive moment by moment
so slowly I couldn’t tell
the slope so gradual I thought everything level
the dawn so imperceptible I didn’t know it was day
and now I am light as air
floating like a feather on the breeze
flying towards the sun
and yet
underneath
the fear of falling back down
down into darkness

© bardofupton 2018

A Fall, on Westminster Bridge

Another brand new poem:

i tumble, bruised, to the ground
my limbs betraying me
a moment of inattention
a moment of weakness
something twists, that should remain straight
and i fall
kind/strange hands lift me up
and i limp onwards
the big clock strikes, late, late, behind me
and i limp on
battered
to my destination

© bardofupton 2018

A new poem

Literally just finished this one:

you think my gender is written on my body
a text for you to read
but you’re wrong
it’s written deep inside
somewhere in walnut curves and sparking neurons
and merely displayed on my body
a work of art
subject to interpretation

what you see may not be what you get
and that is not my problem
but yours
for failing to understand
that this is more complicated than x and y
m and f
a curve not a point

people are always more complex than you think

© bardofupton 2018

A couple of really silly (old) poems

Ode to Didcot

Didcot! Sunny Didcot! Home of electric power!
Oh! Watch the steam rise from every cooling tower!
As seagulls call mournfully in the clear summer sky
All the little streams and ponds are once again running dry.
Didcot! Rainy Didcot! Home of six charity shops!
Bewail the lack of butchers to sell pork or lamb chops!
As happy children splash homewards through the pouring rain
The orange Tappins coach is speeding by once again.
Didcot! Chilly Didcot! Home of Tesco’s superstore!
Oh! Feel the cold as it strikes into every pore!
As trainspotters watch the Intercity speeding past
Doen their necks the winter wind will blow an icy boast.
Didcot! Lovely Didcot! The home of several pubs!
Don’t forget Rotarians and sundry other clubs!
As the last light of evening fades and dies away
A shout goes up ‘Didcot! Didcot! Hip hip hip hooray!’

Pigs

A pig is pink a pig is fat
I wish I had one on my hat
I think that it would be quite nice
To feed a pig on fried rice
A pig is pink a pig is large
I think I could fit one on my barge
Yes I think I probably could
But do you think I really should?
A pig is large a pig is pink
And pigs really do not stink
I think that pigs are nice
Have I said that once – or twice?
A pig is pink a pig is clever
A pig would not betray me – ever!
I think that pigs are really cool
Don’t look at me like I’m a fool!
So just because a pig is fat
And you can’t fit one on your hat
Don’t think that pigs are not nice
I think I’ve now said that twice!

© bardofupton 2018

An old poem

This is another old poem.

There are no tears that burn enough for me to cry them
There is no pain that hurts enough for me to die from
So here I stand I stand alone
And there’s no way to help me home
Out of the cold into the warm
No way to keep me safe from harm
If there were tears that burnt enough for me to cry
There’d be a pain that hurt enough for me to die
There is no star that shines for me
There is no flame whose light I see
So here I am in the dark
Tears locked in my aching heart
When there are tears that burn enough for me to cry
There’ll be a pain that hurts enough for me to die

© bardofupton 2018

Another old poem

There’s rage, not mine but inherited,
Passed on in the blood
Handed down from untold mothers and mothers of mothers
Tapping deep into my core
At the centre is fire flame lava
Burning melting destroying
With memory
With knowledge
With awareness
With everything seen and heard, felt, lived, experienced
Fury feeds itself
Turning out and in
(More often in than out)
And someday must make a change
Out not in…

© bardofupton 2018