Perpetuity

These things will still be here.
When all is said and done
When nature’s course has run
When fate has taken leave of fear
And dealt the final blow
These things remain just so:
 
The ruffle of a feathered breast
The mystery of a chosen path
The haven of a traveler's rest
The crackle of a warming hearth
 
The outline of an ancient hill
The bleating of a newborn lamb
The quiet of an evening still
The stars unchanged since dawn of man
 
The harmony of season’s birth
The memory of a special friend
A chance remark that ends in mirth
A friendship that will never end
 
The joy of a resolvéd chord
The welcome of a loving child
A pleasure borne of due reward
The fervour of a heart beguiled
 
The comfort of a knowing glance
The harbour of a fond embrace
A love that grows from fleeting glance
And deepens till it bears no trace
 
These things will still be here
When all is said and done
When nature’s course has run
When fate has taken leave of fear
And dealt the final blow
These things remain just so.
 
2011

John H Davies

Immoral support

The pre-op sister spoke in reassuring,
confident tones and you seemed fine
as you took it all in, matter of fact.

Yet despite this, there was a brief
moment when the reality of what
you would soon undertake

hit me square between the eyes.
But I couldn’t show it, as I was
there for moral support. I couldn’t

show how much I admired you
and how much harder I loved you -
if that was possible.



John H Davies
23rd August 2010 

Rough Justice

It seemed fair to assume
there’d be thieves in a prison,
but after our last belonging
had finally gone the way
of the others, and we still
had no idea who the culprit was,
we planted an imaginary object
under the bunk of the
most likely candidate
and beat the shit out of him.
There wasn’t any more trouble
for a while.


John H Davies
2nd April 2011 

There’s more fruit this year

There’s more fruit this year
hanging from the trees.
A bumper crop, but
one less letter home.

Today will to a certain boy
acknowledge a right of way

that angry motorists
at home feel their duty
to display, vocally

on some congested motorway
that is their world.

But here, the guardsman
cries a different cry,
because he’s probably going to die -
‘Incoming!’ And his CSM
reinforces the lie

or the truth
that no-one dies.
Not on his watch.

And as he fades

he confuses words
intoned in an East Midlands
lilt…
‘Allahu Akbar’
Which roughly translated says:
‘Not today my son.’


John H Davies
20th XIII 2013

Harry's Game (or the law of returning diminution)

The hearing aids are turned down,

just a notch, for the noise

that accompanied his presence

will remain, long after the batteries

have expired.

No need to recharge memories,

for the law of diminishing returns

has been upended;

as he slips the clutch

and rounds Governor’s Bridge

for the last time,

not a shadow in site.

Quick to the heel

and fleet of foot,

the ever present

sparkle in his eye,

which we inherit

for a different reason:

Because just for now

as the Kohima sun goes down,

we lucky few rejoice

that he gave his today

for our tomorrow.

(In memorandum ‘Henry James Fraser’)

John H Davies

26^th VII 2018

Gratitude in a veil

I have an inkling

you know the gratitude,

that you are owed

and not always given.

I may not have the means

to express my debt.

For eons of etiquette

prevent the modern day

gushing of emotion

so awkward for you and I.

And yet, we learnt to embrace

our brave new world.

And while we agonize

over what to say

and not to say,

I say this:

There is not one soul

in my small microcosm of existence

as you;

no greater champion of support;

no finer guardian of friendship;

no shirker of the truth;

and no person who,

despite time’s distillation of

old conventions, would not

speak the unspeakable.

And so I do

now.

John H Davies

VIII May 2018

(For TF - Serengeti)

Marangu

They climbed the hill
to Marangu
un-noticed, yet born
in dust and hard knocks

and centuries
of birth and death
informed
and un-informed

and today forged
of a new life:
A swaddling babe
damp to the underside

of a dutiful embrace.
A beaming mother
glad of the attention.
Proud.

And later
not much later
the boy who fed it
didn’t understand

why it foamed
at the mouth
after he fed
the meal

and wondered why
so many climbed
the hill to see
his still sister.

They locked up
his beaming mother
thinking it better she
were dead

less bother they said
as they descended
the hill
from Marangu.

5th XI 2015

War Memorial

It stands alone
On a forgotten fork in the road
Amidst a patch of unkempt grass
That many pass without a thought.

A simple monolith of local stone
In want of some repair
For time has worn away
The names of those
Whose passing gave it birth.

But once a year
A modest group arrives
To stand in silence.

Two frugal minutes.
Yet that moment still
Invokes the infinite

Which is the lives
Of those who fell

Unfulfilled.

11th XI 2007

Sabbath

The lure of Sunday
Alluded him, if he was honest,
Church long since forsook,
And in that void
A shadow took residence inside his head
While most, he imagined
Lolled in bed, or watched tv
He struggled desperately
To fill each second
With something useful,
Something worthy. That
People might think:
My god, he keeps himself busy.

Bed Fellows

Sometimes the memories

bump into each other

as you are trying to sleep.

It’s awkward

because the person with whom

you share the bed

has no notion

of what’s going on

inside your head

nor should they.

Steal away through the net

and hope you won’t offend.

Perhaps a drink

or read a book;

send an email, connect

until it goes away.

Discussion for another day.

The days get farther apart,

but the memories still bump

into each other

as you are trying to sleep.

It’s awkward.

John H Davies

20 X 2014