Maybe there really is ‘somewhere else’.

Many say it’s his best; ‘a young man’s poem’full of life and love and promise;and short too. His long poems,they’re great but few have the patience nowand who cares about Poet Laureateswhen they’re out of fashion?It never appeared, did you know,in his lifetime. Sat in his desk drawer,a single poem in a fine Italian leather…

on the highways and skyways,death by faceless peoplewho said they are warriors.They are not warriors.Whose cause is being served?Certainly not the cause of God,not the cause of Allah,because it is God Almightywho gives lifeand is full of mercy.How much blood must be spilled?How many tears shall we cry?How many mothers’ hearts must be maimed? ‘

punctuated with the lighter tapof brush on pan, the contents neatlytapped back into its metal or plastic maw;the knocks, sometimes gentlewith the happiness of home and heart;sometimes, sharper, as if they carryunspoken messages of time too short,and tempers too..not today the hoovering intake of that continuousindrawn mechanical breath that so disturbsdomestic pets; that brings unease…

would have wished – for my own self,and maybe, for my parents too:some time in life – it would depend on you –but not too late, too late –to sit down together –each parent, each child, individually –and maybe with a few days ‘thinking time’ beforehand –and say – you could take this in turns…

an invite to a buzzy West End partyafter the football game, whereyou’ll ‘mingle with the stars’and when you get there, all glammed upand wearing your Saturday best,you glimpse, beyond a velvet, guarded rope,the ‘stars’ you just won’t mingle with –those ‘celebs’ with not too much to doexcept to party and be photographed,‘stars’ who’re hoping thus…

between, a long river