Sand Castles .
A tide of words, only of mine, lap at an unwelcoming world. And therein the rise and fall is the most masterful play for place. Where, within its shallow strip, I catch my ‘self’.
(Find in Clunk & Jam book.)
Take A Number .
To halt her nearing steps posed too great a threat to her new life found. To not allow the creative surge to complete its course, would be to steal from herself at the very moment her ‘self’ she’d found.
(Image from book, ‘World of Wonder’. Find poem in Clunk & Jam book.)
Drawing A Line .
The sun sets to draw a line on horizon and at water’s edge. It is a final moment. An acceptance of the smallness which is just the right fit for a mind’s long search for a place.
(Find poem in Clunk & Jam book.)
Go Play On The Swings .
The want to ride way up high reveals much less. A moment in the middle that can’t be held. A view from above stolen from beneath. I go PLONK. Caught by the place where soles meet soil. Much nicer than hanging by a longing for a lift.
This little soldier had a history of plonks. Each time she played with someone she’d end up getting hurt, which left her wondering if she’d be better off never playing with anyone again. One day, dumped in yet another plonk, too weary to bound from the stillness that forever taunted her, she sat. And she sat. And she sat. It was in the sitting that she began to wonder if maybe her escape from the plonk would not come from never trusting again. Maybe the answer lay in trusting herself. Or perhaps playing only the games that held a balance. And knowing when it was time to go home before it got too dark.
(Reposted from 2012. Originally from handmade book, ‘Rock The Boat’, handwriting by Mags. Now in Clunk & Jam book, 2019)
Wish Upon A Billboard .
For a time when …. billboards fall flat on their perfect faces. Golden arches buckle at the knees in shame. And we’re free from going anywhere “Quick!” …”While stocks last!”….”Before it ends!” …. so we “Don’t miss out on that must have!” And fat was used to make gravy not deemed as ugly and unsightly lumps to be hidden, sucked out (and in), massaged away, jogged off, measured and cut out – or provided a menu of celebrity cooking shows for those surfing for something to escape world news.
Kids associated ‘board’ with Scrabble and not nothing to do. Offers weren’t limited and we accepted fixing wasn’t quick. Buses had people going up and down through windows not wrapped in wrinkle free banners promoting the same. Googling was staring in wonder at the sky or the sound of a blocked sink – not entry into a world that home delivers an unsavoury feast for curious young minds to consume.
A time when watching the sun sizzle into the watery horizon was a celebration of the end of another good day – not a sear on the conscience of already burdened young souls we leave to carry with them into the future. And seagulls went fishing and stopped squabbling over chips.
( ‘Clunk & Jam’ book.)
