By the waters of Léman

‘My brother is a Coptic priest,’

the Egyptian leant over

from an adjoining table,

concerned we might have thought

the long black robes and grey beard

belonged to a Muslim cleric,

despite the large crucifix at his chest,

and having captured our attention

continued to explain the finer differences

between the three orthodoxies,

and extolling the virtues of the Dutch.

And so unlikely a pair they seemed

that I was put in mind of a pimp

selling the assets of his finest girl,

as we studied the old steam boat

creeping across the lake towards the pier,

before rising from our seats without

obvious haste and wishing them

Happy Easter.

John H Davies

30th April 2011

The Kiss

I pinch myself when I think

we were there for the kiss

on that warm day in June

when the world seemed to stop

in technicolor freeze frame;

you in a pastel blue frock

and me an ill fitting Sandhurst 

blazer. We’d watched the ceremony

on a TV behind the bar

of the Special Forces Club

though Uncle Alfie wasn’t there

(something had come up),

then a car ploughed us through

the throng and we were caught up

in the moment and deposited

outside the palace just as 

prince and princess appeared

at the balcony and kissed

and a roar went up around us.

I had not thought what that kiss

might have meant to you

and perhaps my indifference

reflected a certain aloofness

of my newly indentured family

that was to prove so fatal

to you, and me, and them.

John H Davies

29th April 2011

Fun Fair

The boy passed the blue Post Office

savings book across the counter

and withdrew his last ten pounds

knowing that although it was his

money, the intention of kindly

aunts and uncles and parents’ friends

who had donated towards the diminishing

balance, and his father’s explanation

of accrued interest, had been rather more

long term, as he stepped into the seat

of the twister and the man clamped

the safety bar down, and he closed

his eyes and wondered whether the

exquisite feeling in his stomach was guilt,

or the anticipation of the short lived

exhilaration of the ride, and the void

when it and the money had finished.

28th April 2011 

John H Davies

Bragging about our granddads (I)

“I’ve booked a slot with him this afternoon,”

Vanya explained over a cupcake in his

international school English, and we smiled

with interest; “He’s promised to talk to me

about his past life for my history project –

he spied for the KGB in Washington for 11

years until he was caught and given 24 hours

to leave – it’s kinda cool.” And when he left

I went out onto the terrace where Kevin was

cooking sausages and we made references to

the old enemy in hushed conspiratorial tones.

John H Davies

27th April 2011 

Difficult Terrain

As they picked their way

from stone to stone

and over protruding

tree roots, she explained

how all her attention

was required directly

beneath her feet, and that

if she looked too far

ahead in anticipation

of the unfolding view,

she might stumble.

John H Davies

26th April 2011 

Home

Sweet where the heart is

out of range, like

no other place;

a sickening search

in knowing thoughts

upon its coming

to town or city,

race or species.

Or simply a notion

of wanting, leaving

welcomes to the

safety of others;

an unfulfilled destination

of expired timetables.

John H Davies

25th April 2011 

M.O.T.H.S

(Memorial order of tin hats)

The caretaker of my one bedroom flat in downtown Jo’burg

seemed so pleased at my arrival, he had some boys deliver the

biggest fridge I’d ever seen, as a favour to a ‘special’ tenant,

and in his bare room in the ground floor basement hung an

enormous photograph of his presentation to a young Queen,

in recognition of long years as a Japanese prisoner of war.

Several times he invited me to a party of old comrades

which I eagerly accepted, but he always forgot, and just

as I was about to give up hope, he turned up

at my door one evening with a smile and a set of keys,

and I drove his battered old car through unfamiliar streets

and we got lost, and arrived just in time as the old chaps

took their seats; someone fumbled with the light switch;

and in the darkness the commanding officer struck a match

and lit a candle that was melted onto an upturned tin helmet

placed on the table in front of him. And round and about me,

I felt old backs stiffen, and for a brief moment as the Transvaal

sun went down, any trace of dementia had all but disappeared.

John H Davies

24th April 2011