Two of Fifteen

At first glance Print Number 2/15

“The First Snow” might be mistaken

for a child’s daub, but look again

and you will see how each bold

seemingly rash stroke of the brush

has been placed on the parchment

with infinite care, every texture and shade

charged with specific purpose;

drawing you into the scene

almost unaware that you have

become part of the landscape,

and that the child was probably you.

http://www.zennabroomer.com/

 

John H Davies                                                                                                                                                  

22nd January 2011 

Confusion

Away on another front, living out memories

of distorted futures and vacant pasts,

he glided above half familiar roof-tops

making diminishing progress with each stroke

until the air took on the consistency of glue,

not daring to look back, but sensing the destruction

in his mind’s eye; tracking the trajectory

of each projectile on its lazy arc across the low

green hills and conversing with someone

he hadn’t seen in twenty years of yesterdays,

he woke,

and for a brief moment – frozen in eternity –

he was unsure whether he’d passed from

reality to fantasy, or simply opened his eyes.

John H Davies

21st January 2011 

Hidden Talent

I can’t dance or ride a horse

although I’ve tried several times

to do both. Someone said I

looked like a sack of potatoes

attempting to do either,

but I can’t make any connection

between the two. So it’s no

surprise when I consider

that I can’t play chess, or

remember which controller works

the gadgets beneath the TV.

I can’t exercise much patience

when attempting to get through

to the Inland Revenue

and I can’t swim the butterfly

particularly well. But I

can detect to within a hair’s breadth

the exact moment when winter

ends and spring begins,

with my eyes closed,

and I think that is quite a skill.

John H Davies

20th January 2011 

Bragging about our dads - Part 2

My dad’s a soldier.

He went to Helmand.

Carried a big gun.

Breakfasted on Taleban.

Caught by a roadside bomb.

Woke up in Selly Oak.

Refused to stay too long.

Got to get back soon.

Can’t leave his mates behind.

Mum doesn’t seem to mind.

Says he’s a hero.

That’s what I think too.

My dad’s a soldier.

Et cetera.

Et cetera.

Ad infinitum.

John H Davies

19th January 2011

Old Memories

A memory is like a scar

the nurse replied

as he reached the door

and paused for a moment clamping

his stick between

elbow and torso

trying not to consider which

came first, the scar

or the memory

because both had the habit of

showing themselves

with monotony,

like a jackdaw tapping at its

reflection in

the gable window.

John H Davies

18^th January 2011

Recruiting Call

The General looked me up and down and stepped a little closer,

and fixing me with earnest eye delivered this one liner:

‘I wouldn’t join the army now, for all the tea in China.’

John H Davies

17th January 2011 

Night Visits

Don’t come to me now, in the small dark hours.

Don’t make me lie here guilty and desperate

to wring you out of the black void echoing

behind my forehead, weighing against eyelids

and jockeying for position amongst the unseen

nocturnal events familiar but anonymous:

a passing car, the settling crack of old timbers

in out of beat accompaniment of digestive tracts

and diaphragms of slumbering souls; an urge to pee,

and pangs of hunger and anxiety and wondering

how the two hundred swans in the field beyond

Langdale Copse will spend such hours as this.

And now I’m floating along the landing descending

and fumbling for a pencil, desperate to capture you.

Don’t come to me now you fleeting words, not now,

for we both know you’ll be gone in the morning.

John H Davies

16th January 2011