Devices

Oxygen by nasal tubes

We climbed to the top
Of Beachy Head
But I wouldn’t venture
Near the edge
For fear of sudden earthquakes

A needle in your neck
To determine your fluid levels

And I worry if the car
Has enough petrol
And if the digital read out
Predicting twenty-three miles
Is as accurate as they say

The blood pressure pads
Wind around your arm
And inflate every five minutes

But we rarely sulk
Or let the atmosphere build
I have been known to be grumpy
But I try to be positive

Three tubes into your arm
Feed you plasma, nutrients
And antibiotics

Sometimes we over-order
Indian food. Particularly
If we have visitors

Two tubes
Drain away the leaking blood
We have both experienced
This leakage of red and blues
Thankfully full Technicolor
Is fully restored

A catheter removes urine

The paper shredder is a great invention
And a boon to our office
Where we sit
And watch the sea, in two minds
Empty and refill the beach

Around your legs the dreaming tubes
Move like restless snakes
Keeping the blood flowing

You keep your computer on
Constantly
The whizzing dots on your screen saver
Never sleep

At night
My computer rests
Fitfully

Famous Philosphical Phrase

As Descartes originally wrote

I am fed-up
with French food, I think

therefore I am going out
for a nice curry.

(Part of which
was lost in translation.)

The Hospice Shop

Joseph said
He bought a new shirt
From the Hospice Shop

As well as shirts
It’s very good for pyjamas
And slippers

Not Arial, Not Times Roman

If I could invent
A font
I would call it
All Knowledge

Leaf

(for Adrian Mitchell)

As I was leaving Tesco’s
A man handed me a leaf
I held it gently by its stem
Turned it over
Inspected it

It seemed like an ordinary leaf
No blemishes, tears
Or distinguishing marks
The leaf was brown. No – orange.
With touches of red.
Many shades of colour in fact
I noticed the intricate network of veins
The leaf’s lightness
Its delicacy
Its perfect shape

I looked up at the trees
And thought of the billions of leaves
Clinging on, soon to fall
And thought of the billions of new leaves
That would come after winter
More than my brain could imagine

I let the leaf fall to the earth
Watched its curved flight

I thanked the man, picked up my bag of shopping
And walked home

(After Leaflets, by Adrian Mitchell. )

Wrap Up Warm

Shouting at the ocean is unlikely to halt the tide
Railing against the storm will only strain your throat
Crying into an empty bed will only make the night darker
Love may melt the coldest heart but on a winter’s day it’s much better to wear a coat.

Passion for Poetry

(Published in February’s Red House catalogue.)

I was thirteen years old when my Dad gave me an anthology by Arnold Silcock called Verse and Worse. It was full of parodies, jokes, limericks and all sorts of oddities - and I loved it. From spoofs of such classics as Browning’s How I Bought the Good News From Aix to Ghent (or Vice Versa) by the authors of 1066 and All That to nursery rhymes such as

Doctor Bell fell down the well
and broke his collar bone.
Doctors should attend the sick
and leave the well alone.

I found them all clever and fascinating. I recently bought a copy from a second-hand bookshop (Hurrah that there are still some left) to replace my copy, which, nearly fifty years later, is falling apart. I was thrilled to find it because it was Verse and Worse that inspired me to start my life-long poetry-writing career.

At school I had a brilliant English teacher called Mr Nichols. He helped me unlock the mysteries of Chaucer, Wordsworth and Shakespeare. Reading again The Rime of the Ancient Mariner still makes the hairs (those that are left) on the back of my neck stand up and try to run.

But my next big poetry adventure was the Mersey Poets, in particular Roger McGough. They were the English equivalent of the Beat Poets, riding in on the wave of Beatlemania, and bringing a rush of fresh air to English poetry. Roger McGough is probably still my favourite poet, writing as he does so brilliantly for both children and adults. He does funny; he does sad; he does wise; he does puns. And I do like puns - as much as I don’t like "getting a potato clock." (What a great poem that is.)

And today there are so many brilliant poets around. The amazing Billy Collins, so easy to read, so clever, so subtle; Simon Armitage; Carol Anne Duffy, and so many good children’s poets too, among the best being Michael Rosen, Children’s Laureate.

No time to read? Then why not keep a couple of poetry books by your bed to read before you turn out the light. Poems are short, packed with good things, they’ll make you think, they’ll make you laugh and they’re good for you. Children love them, even boys who prefer football to reading will often happily sit and read a good book of poems. If I’m preaching to the converted – great. If not buy yourself a few poetry books and find out what you’ve been missing.