Man's best friend

For one particular child

the love of a dog

was a lonely solace.

And during a half term

his mother bought him

a new magazine called:

‘The Complete Dog,’

which he kept under

his pillow at night

until some other boys

found it and threw it

from bed to bed chanting:

“The Complete Dog –

plus a tail! Ha Ha Ha.

The Complete Dog –

plus a tail! Ha Ha Ha.

The Complete Dog –

plus a tail! Ha Ha Ha…”

John H Davies

26th February 2011 

Time Passing

It was an alternative view for a child,

but my greatest ambition

was not to open the batting for England,

or score the winning goal in the

World Cup final, but quite simply

to grow older.

It couldn’t happen soon enough,

and the anxiety of the process

was as constant as the passing of time.

And all of a sudden,

having spent my life

watching those around me turning grey,

I looked in the bathroom mirror

and found that I too was grey,

and that I had achieved my goal

almost without noticing.

 

John H Davies

25th February 2011 

Describing Finzi’s Eclogue

Once when we were alone at the kitchen table

shaking off self consciousness, I attempted

to describe the feelings spawned by listening

to my favourite piece of music, almost like

a football commentary. And somehow it

struck a chord with my companion, so much so

that he asked me to do it again some months later

and I declined, explaining that the moment had gone.

And I felt at the time I had let him down, and now

he is gone, I want to resurrect that moment,

but it never seems quite the same when I do it.

It starts with order, a gentle solitude in a measured

and unhurried way, with easy harmony and only

the hint of discord one would expect in life.

As we listen, the halcyon glow is invaded 

by a knowing foreboding, vaguely threatening

the idyllic tranquillity, but quickly dispelled at first,

and all is well. And forcibly so, showing the world

how well everything is. But we must have closed our eyes

and lost our way, because we seem to be searching

a dark place, an unfamiliar forest, although there is

a faint glimmer between the trees, distant and fleeting.

We begin to see the journey’s end although we are

warned of doubt and regret along the way as we

explore our feelings and sail through the air

above the hinterland, and seeing a hill; climbing;

the knowledge the prize, but the view on reaching

the top is not completely fulfilling and acceptance

is the only solution. Measured, simple, and in tune

and harmony with surroundings and no need to panic.

Even if the sky darkens. Patience will bring

the final resolution and end in complete clarity.

Synthesis of sound and mood.

Maintenance of tempo and rhythm. Never perfect,

but always real. Resolved. Peaceful.

And all the better for magic mushrooms.

John H Davies

24th February 2011 

Shape Shifters

Lapwings vying with wheeling

Terns against a grey sky

describing amorphous

ever changing

shapes in a

random

motion like

liquid passing

from one invisible

vessel to another in

the absence of gravity

until someone pulls the

plug and the teeming

vortex melts into

the ploughed

land.

John H Davies

23rd February 2011 

The need for speed

When I was a young man

my sole objective when

behind the wheel of a car,

was to drive from A to B

as quickly as possible.

It smacked of superiority.

Now I am not as young,

most satisfaction is gained

by achieving the maximum

distance per gallon of fuel,

and irritating the van behind.

It still feels superior.

John H Davies

22nd February 2011 

Work in Progress

Although he was eighty six

inside he still felt twenty three.

And what frustrated him most

was that people only noticed

the shell and not the core,

and often said things like:

‘He’s good for his age,’

and he would mutter he’s only

come to the end of the page,

and not the chapter,

under his breath. But truth be told

he didn’t like the look

of the end of the book.

His mind was sharp,

and a bright eye gave hint

of former conquests which

he could own up to now, even

brag about because everyone around

back then was dead, and anyway

he was heading the same way.

Bone and sinew withered so that

the only features recognisable

from old photos were his ears,

and all the artefacts that defined him

lay gathering dust in the spare room:

a set of bowling woods, a snooker cue,

fishing rods and two pairs

of dancing shoes with holes

in the soles, because now

he gets short of breath

half way to the greenhouse

and is confined to the TV set

to contest LBW decisions.

And if there was an injection

to end it; pull out the plug;

available on the NHS, he’d have it now.

But he’s usually feeling better

the next day, because he’s

‘Good for his age.’

John H Davies

21st February 2011 

The programme is not responding

Resisting the urge to vent my frustration

at the hanging computer screen by stabbing it

with a pair of scissors, instead I got up to

wind my 250-year-old long case clock 

which only lost half a minute last week, 

despite the change in weather.

John H Davies

20th February 2011