Judgement Day

Today’s the day,

and I guess if you’re

reading this it didn’t

quite happen the way

some predicted:

with earthquakes

and tidal waves

and graves thrown open

and survivors existing

in a world of horror and

chaos beyond

description.

And then again

perhaps it has

already happened.

Quietly, when

no-one was

looking. In fact

it has the sober

ring of familiarity

about it, although

frankly I don’t think

He would have

bothered.

John H Davies

21st May 2011

Agenda

He had an agenda,

and so did he,

and also him.

She had an agenda,

and they had agendas,

as well as several others.

His agenda conflicted

with her agenda,

and also theirs,

whereas it was

in complete accord

with the others’.

And although there were

no hidden agendas,

there seemed to be

no single agenda

that satisfied all

parties and as a result

there was no meeting.

John H Davies

20th May 2011 

Song of the Songs – Part 2

Here’s a song that I’ve created

Here in the sweet afterglow

Softly as the falling snow

Oh how they sigh.

You left me fond recollections

When a pale September moon

was shining,

Nobody knows the hour

They were there together

Constant forever.

Pray tell me whence you come

Oh heavenly rest

Somewhere I know where lovers go

Into my heart one December day

For me there seemed no morrow.

Raise your voices, raise your hearts

There’s a wonderful light in the sky

A poet loves the springtime.

That is all I have to say.

John H Davies

19th May 2011 

Friendship

Someone suggested

that friendship

is easier to give

than to receive;

rather like a wound,

or a salute,

and as a consequence

the only way

to receive friendship

is with the grace

of a warrior

or a general.

John H Davies

18th May 2011 

People you meet in pubs VI

I loved to hear how during the war his squadron

had been stationed for a while in South Africa

and he was billeted with a family at an address

that had become imprinted on his memory,

and after only a few repetitions, on mine too:

77 St. Albans Road, Mayfair West, Jo’Burg. 

He reminded me again the night before I left

for the airport, as he steadied the shimmer

in his glass-hand by gripping his wrist

with the other, and with a glint in his eye

and despite the forty years, he could still picture

the daughter of the house, and I practiced her name

as he repeated it in his quiet but clipped voice:

Suzanne Labuschagne, Suzanne Labuschagne…

and the side of his mouth rose ever so slightly,

accentuated by his neatly trimmed moustache. 

I kept my promise to look her up once I’d settled in,

and found the house quite easily, and my knock

was answered by a girl who only rented the place

and didn’t recognise the name, or know the owner.

A year later I returned to the pub to let him down

gently, anticipating his repressed excitement,

but fixed to the wall by the bar where he

liked to stand, was a propeller and a small plaque

that read: ‘In Memory of Freddie Lane,’

and despite my sadness, I was pleased that both

those memories were now conjoined and

strengthened and recycled like that repeated address:

77 St. Albans Road, Mayfair West, Jo’Burg.

John H Davies

17th May 2011

Herd Instinct

The giraffe in the garage gave a wide berth to

the alligator in the bath, as it ignored

the fly in the soup that avoided

the kudu in the corridor running from

the leopard on the landing slipping quietly past

the hippo in the hall, but none of them noticed

the elephant in the room.

John H Davies

16th May 2011

Lover’s Complaint

The hardest part about walking

up a concave hill, is not the gradient,

but the inconvenient fact

that as your journey progresses,

the summit remains hidden from view,

and what you imagine is a brow

relentlessly opens up each time

you think you are getting close,

so that your only option is to

concentrate on the journey

and not the destination.

John H Davies

15 May 2011