Waking the Baby

A moth on my heart

Something on the radio

Stopped me in my tracks

I’ve known

The anxiety

Of butterflies

Smiles at the

Old gull joke

But a moth

On her heart

“It put a moth on my heart” she said

And I had to repeat it in my head

Lest I forget before I could set

It down

And I thought of times

A moth had settled

With fluttered wings

In my eye frame

A soft drama

Of expectation

The lightness

Pausing breath

Then launching

Old gull joke.

Doctor, Doctor, I I’ve had a gull in my tummy.

Do you mean ‘Butterflies’?

No, I had a nasty tern!

Apologies.

Residues

Residues

Wing beats

Breaching flukes

Vessels passing on the wave

No marks do they engrave

And, as for all

Who dare contrive

To fix immortal

Conceits a’fleeting

They too will pass

Like every known archive

Beyond its very reaching

For:

Crumbling Past hides

Wisdom and folly both

Full of promise

Future takes the knife

To the very edge

Only enigmatic present

Integrates the bounds

Of cause and time and space

So:

Strip away

Strip back

Through Maslow’s

Higher needs

Before the animal

Is revealed

Unconditional

Sieve out

Cant voyeurism

Contagious greed

Capsulating brutality

Vexatious clingings

Just enough

To expose

Raw

Humanity

Nobleness needs no monument to fall

Nor can history corrupt at all.

©JohnDaniels

I wrote this sitting in the car park of a mental hospital whist waiting for a visitor to return.

Death of a Parent

There is much I could say about these two people, my parents, but I think that is for another audience, but you may read between the lines.

Toxic Parents

The thought of my father

Dead

Hovers on its cold energy

A remembrance, no

A recollection, maybe

At arms length

It must not come close

Too dangerous, you see.

The thought of my mother

Dead

Earths itself, bonding

To the discharge of belief

Negatives need feeding

So insulate, survive

It must stay that way

Too dangerous, you see.

The thought of me, dead

Skulks close out of sight

In a corner of sadness

Like failure at night.

Embraced with the dawn

It will not last

I’ll not be a victim

Of those things of the past.

1999 ©JohnDaniels

I wrote this after reading ‘Toxic Parents’ by Dr Susan Forward

Lament

We, your children

would insert this joke

“.….who art in Manchester.”

one of use spoke

of you “Our father……”

Remembrances such

as this are no longer true.

Unlike welling sorrows,

not bitter,as for rue,

just for our tomorrows.

And, if there is a place

that we might go a while,

go we shall with flowers

to part again and part reconcile

three hundred thousand hours.

Too afeared, too late in life,

communion can only inward be.

Like tears upon the waters

our words cast silently

and,

if we can,

rechart the man,

your son and your daughters.

Our father…..

who wert in Manchester,

whither thou art now?

John Thomas Daniels

1/ 1/ 1926 – 12/ 8/ 2000

©JohnDaniels

All at Sea

Skipper

What was it that drove you on holding your course?

I know it was not all your fault, the way you were.

Perhaps you saw the harmful force and thought it best to leave,

Casting us off unto seven generations.

Mate

Why was it you hid the truth using another chart?

Neither was it all your fault being the way you were.

Perhaps you could not admit your part and clung on too hard

Searching for what was lost, but never was.

Crew

We did your bidding, learnt your ropes.

Your passage making is now bereft

So we’ll unpick the knots around our hopes

To run ashore with what time is left.

My mother had dementia and spent her last year in a nursing home. She had a fall and broke her hip in April and she never really recovered even though the hip joint was replaced. The two months after produced this flurry of poems.

Mum

If you should go today

If you were not to stay

At least we sat warm

Whilst you dozed

Soothed words on your brow

Twined our hands just in case

This turned out to be

Our very last embrace.

6^th May

©JohnDaniels

Peace

Today is a ‘good’ day

Sat in her chair

“That’s not mine!”

But is –

Comfort and calm restored

With Cherry Blossom in her eye

Sleep comes easily

Peace after morning coffee

Peace

Does she know peace

as her world shrinks?

Peace as her family gathers

Half recognised

Embraced

Peace

Against the odds

Perhaps she does

Perhaps.

6^th May

©JohnDaniels

At last – gentle words

Some say we are here to learn.

I would say –

Surely your lesson’s done,

But who am I to say it is so

Or if your fearful battle’s won.

Some say the unforgiven burn.

I would say –

Surely they do not know,

But who am I to say it is true

Or if ‘The Gods’ would stoop so low.

And you,

Maintained we were your main concern.

I would have to say –

Surely this burden under which we grew

That pleached our minds insidious so

Your main concern – was really you.

But, in spite of all, really it is now all right,

For we are working this history through

And this I too, am sure is so –

For once, with love, you can gentle go

Gentle into that long good-night.

7^th May

©JohnDaniels

Awe

Does she recall the awe

In her deepest parts of being

Of when I was first born?

For I recall the awe

Of Tom – my son

The awe of what we had done

The enormity

And the disbelief

As breath replaced breath

And all was as it should be.

Does she recall the awe

In the depths of her dying

Of when her mother passed away?

For I recall the awe

Of Nanny

The awe that she had gone

The enormity

And the disbelief

As no breath came and still

I was as it should be.

Now it is the time for awe

In the distance of waiting

For death once more.

I can feel the awe

Of life

The awe of how close it lays

The enormity

And the disbelief

As breath rattles breath

And though it is as it is

Or should it be

For sure

My time will come

To face my awe

And let my breath away.

3^rd June

©JohnDaniels

Bedside Manner

Do we whisper

or put on an upbeat show?

Do we sit

or bounce unrelaxed?

Do we ignore the pain

or suffocate with care?

Is there another way through this affair?

Is it us who can not cope?

For she has no choice

Nor can she give

Her mind and fear a voice.

Outside this room

Reality shrinks till all that’s left

Counted breath

The timed medications

The nurse’s visitations

And thoughts of, how long?

And she is deprived,

The memories that grant context,

The knowledge that might reassure,

The comfort that all is as it should be.

We wait and watch

We gather and return

To the unreal world

To gather again

Being there

Is all

That’s left

For now.

Little intrudes into the remains

Of her existence, except

The significance of discomfort

While it lasts

And

What of the end?

Who might descend

To give her that peace

We wish for

And

What of her soul?

Her mind, her body – gone.

The final mystery

Unsolved,waiting

On our own discovery.

3^rd June

©JohnDaniels

Holding breath

Four breathings held

Until the first gives way

And we start again

Soon

Four will hold

Only three will go on.

Meanwhile

The movement

Beneath the blanket

Is watched

Mesmerised

Not really able

Otherwise

To do

We watch

The deep

The shallow

The irregular

And hold…..

3:45 pm 4^th June

©JohnDaniels

I did two versions:-

Reduction

We live in a world

Of wants driven on

By media’s time

No space to fill

Impatient for

The next big thrill

Precious are the moments

In which time takes

A backward stance

Eternity enters, unobserved

Presently revealed

And

Everything reduces

To a point

A singularity

In time

Where

We may only

Watch

Catching our breath.

ii)

In a world of wants

Driven on media time

Every moment filled

Sublime

Impatient for when

We next be thrilled.

If time should perchance

Take on a backward stance

Shy eternity presently

Will make itself

Known and everything

Tends to a singularity

As the Falcon on the wing.

May only

Catch our breath

Enough till once again

The piper bids us sing.

4^th June

Between the lines

They say there are no words

At times like these

Other than worn platitudes

We have learnt to smooth

Our embarrassed inadequacy

They may not be spoken,

But there are word like

That return like bats

To settle in your mind

Fluttering and disturbing

Until each a space is found

Settling in the mind

That flutter and disturb

Until a space is found.

Such words

As can be spoken

Oft no justice brings

To common emotion

But, with care

Can be read

Between the lines.

4^th June

©JohnDaniels

Insolent day

Insolent day

Gives not a whit

Disregarding

All the joy and grief

And we ignore this truth

Wishing it would

Reflect our mood.

4^th June

©JohnDaniels

My mother died two days later early in the morning, we were there, my sisters and I.

Today is the anniversary of her birth, she would have been 95yrs old.

Patricia Cane 10/ 1/ 1925 – 6/ 6/ 2006

Haiku – some thoughts.

There is no direct link with the original Japanese form of Haiku simply because of the differences in spoken and written language.

“Japanese haiku counts sounds, not strictly syllables (the linguistic term is mora—Japanese is a moraic language, not a syllabic one). For example, the word “haiku” itself counts as two syllables in English (hi-ku), but three sounds in Japanese (ha-i-ku). This isn’t how “haiku” is said in Japanese, but it is how its sounds are counted. Similarly, consider “Tokyo.” How many syllables? Most Westerners, thinking that Japan’s capital city is pronounced as “toe-key-oh,” will say three syllables, but that’s incorrect. It’s actually pronounced as “toe-kyo.” So two syllables, right? Actually, no. Rather, it counts as “toe-oh-kyo-oh”—four syllables. Or rather, sounds.” 5-7-5 Essay

Where does this leave the Non-Japanese poet?

I believe Haiku have several elements

The Haiku should be accessible to the reader, it must make sense even if the meaning behind it requires some thought.
For me it is principally set in a time and a place. Again it may not be obvious from the Haiku, but the poet will have taken their time and used observation to inspire the writing.
It shall have three lines, one short, one longer and another shorter.

The first two lines are usually linked with the third giving the reader something to ponder.

Some afficionados can be very rigid in their thinking, but I feel you either appreciate the Haiku or not and it is best not to be too hung up on rules etc.

Haiku is for everyone to write and to enjoy.

Songs of Love

To the tip, my darling.

You could meet me at the tip my darling

By the sump oil or waste cardboard skip

For a long hug and a kiss my darling

It isn’t a very long trip

I’m sat in the garden my darling

With a book and enjoying the sun

I’ll meet you there my darling

I think it will be such fun

You weren’t at the tip my darling

There was no one to hug or to kiss

I just thought it a lovely idea

To add to our feelings of bliss

How I missed you my darling

And tried not think of our hug

So I dumped all my bits and my pieces

Along with a heart, too heavy to lug

Blame the sun my darling

Beaming all lovely and hot

I fell asleep my darling

I wasn’t that I forgot.

I’ve been to the tip my darling

I searched through all of the dross

And there was your heart my darling

Rescued and found by the boss

We’ll both go to the tip my darling

Thank the boss man for all of his trouble

And if all goes to plan my darling

We can kiss and hug by the rubble.