Fatherhood

A recent poem....from just a few weeks ago. 

Last time I saw this young man

he was callow, naive, could

put his foot in whatever was

in-put-footable.  Now, he holds the

hand of a curly-headed three-year-old boy,

grinning, both of them grinning,

delighted to be in each other’s life,

the ginger-haired, short-cropped father,

the curly-topped lightning-smiling

boy.  ‘And we’ve just had number two,’

says the father, shining.  ‘Just

three weeks ago.’

Firstly, Secondly

Another poem written some time in the last couple of years, and again, somewhat revised....

Firstly, Secondly. 

Firstly, in a house full of

paper, I can’t find a scrap

to write on.   The chaos of

carpet-laying has put everything

where it doesn’t belong.

Secondly, reading Billy

Collins writing about

reading Thomas Traherne

I wonder if Billy

will be remembered

300 years from now.

Will he be rediscovered, as

Bach was rediscovered – supposedly –

by Felix Mendelssohn.

Felix was a bit of a

fraud, (though without malice)

since Bach had never been

undiscovered, even when

Felix found some of his

manuscripts being used to wrap

meat in a butcher’s shop,

(so the story goes),

even though Bach’s

Mass in B Minor was

unknown to the English

musical cognoscenti.

So Billy’s Apple that

Discovered Paris, or his

Trouble with Poetry might

well go out of fashion, but

who’s to say what will survive.

With so much alive and well

on the Net, it’s a probable

bet that Billy and Bach and

Thomas Traherne will

continue their timeless travels -

unless the Net unravels.

In spite of the news

In spite of the news,

the body got up next morning

continued to

go for a pee,

wash its face,

eat breakfast,

put on clean underwear,

check for holes in the toes of socks,

put one leg into trousers and then the next,

make sure it had a handkerchief,

brush its teeth,

comb its hair,

kiss its wife goodbye

and head off to work.

No one noticed the news on the bus.

The bus driver was cheerful as usual,

the passengers nonchalant, or oblivious,

or listening to their MP3s.

The traffic in general was busy,

checking for red lights,

beeping at drivers cutting in,

whistling along with the pop songs

and, some of them,

talking on their cellphones.

In the office, all was normal,

the news was not remarked upon.

Not even when the body told them.

It barely rippled the surface of their

newspaper, magazine, Codecracker lives.

And the ripples it did make caused

no more than an

Oh.   Ah.   Sorry.

I wrote this poem on the 29.10.08, and have slightly revised it.   I have no idea what the particular 'news' was anymore, and of course, it's not important....

Photo by Olly F

Two Dunedin poems

Two Dunedin poems

A small boy

Turns over each of the

Octagon’s metal chesspieces

With a clang reminiscent of a

Coke can being crushed.

When he has finished,

Having excelled in the

Art of overturning chessmen,

He stands arms akimbo.

There is a man I see everywhere I go;

In fact there are two.

The first always wears a t-shirt over his skivvy, and

Always carries a bag slung over one shoulder.

The other one is always seated drinking coffee,

Always talking intently to at least one other person –

Mostly one other person.

The first man is always alone.

I never know whether the second man’s conversation

Is as intellectual as it looks, or whether he is a fool full of words.

I know nothing about the first man.

He is always alone.