Absence

Despite the time apart and the anticipation
of seeing her again; the cleaning and tidying;
clipping the dog, and cooking her favourite meal,

she was disappointed that nothing had changed,
and that the hopes of how things might be,

or even ought to be, in her mind, were that much
further from reality. And this reluctant understanding
didn’t make her feel any better.


John H Davies

28th II 2011

Dilapidations

You came with me on the last day
and wiped down window sills
and skirting boards with a fresh smelling
all purpose cleaner, and I filled the odd hole
in the wall and cleaned the toilets
and swept the workshop floor ready
to hand back to the landlord.

And before we left, we stood in the empty
space and you held me like you do,
and I knew that the next step
would be even better than the last.


John H Davies

27th II 2011

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 II 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 II 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 II 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 II 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 II 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

Defining ‘The Big Society’

Seventy percent of us
struggle to understand it

despite the best intentions of
the government to make it fit

reforms in public services
for our long term benefit.

To see the hosts of volunteers
cleaning up Tahrir Square

is probably the closest thing
with which we can compare

the efforts to conjure up
an ideal out of thin air.

I think I’d better leave it there.


John H Davies

19th February 2011

Inappropriation

The Reverend A R W Bennett
(I’ve changed his name)
was a revolting little man whose
stammer, unlike most, didn’t
endear him to anyone,
and who relished a rather
unorthodox approach to teaching
which usually ended in chaos,
as neither he nor we could control
our juvenile excitement.

I should have smelt a rat
one day when he summoned me
to his flat at breakfast time,
to explain a poem I had written
for an English exam, and wishing
to counter his mockery and justify
my adolescent efforts, I argued
that it was better appreciated
read aloud, and he invited me
to perform my sentimental airs.

Ah bitter chill it was as I waxed
my treble tones over his Darjeeling
and Wilkin & Sons Fine Cut
marmalade, and sensing the
somewhat unconventional environment
felt a gnawing, awkwardness;
I hadn’t seen him before without
a dog collar, undressed, and I was
torn between expressing my
nascent muse or denying his violation
of my misappropriated feelings.
I recited the poem, but it took me
thirty years to write another.


John H Davies

18th II 2011

The Earnestness of being Important

The clerk examined the paperwork
without looking up.
‘This won’t do’ she said.

You explained it was a
Statement of Motor Insurance
with all the relevant details.

The clerk replied that she required a
Certificate of Motor Insurance.
It wasn’t the same.


John H Davies

17th February 2011

Private Trip

He wasn’t wearing a flat cap,
and I was sporting an old tin pot helmet,
sat astride a 1929 Model 18 Norton
in a queue of similar machines lined up along
the Ramsey Promenade waiting for my turn
to sprint the eighth of a mile from a
standing start. The bright sun made it hot
and sticky in old leathers, and anticipation
was turning to boredom as I nursed the engine
in a reluctant idle hoping I wouldn’t oil the plug
before my moment of glory; my concentration
suffocated in a haze of Castrol ‘R’ infused
exhaust fumes. And turning my head to the left,
towards the sea front, I noticed in my peripheral
view, a small figure ambling along the pavement
and drawing my attention until the moment
our eyes met whereupon he tripped. Perfectly.
And passed out of view behind a kiosk.
And in the few moments it took my brain
to recognise the loveable clown,
I missed my green light, in a Pitkinesque vignette,
and forfeited the first run and had to go around again.
But my own very private performance
had been worth more than any Manx laurels,
and I wouldn’t be caring if anyone laughed at me.


John H Davies

16th February 2011

Private Smile

In company, he had the knack
of making you feel
the centre of his universe.

But once I saw him
driving by
in his battered old car
as I pulled up to a junction,

and he didn’t see me,
because he had a far away look
on his face,

and a smile so serene
I felt I was eavesdropping
on an intensely private moment.
And yet that moment

was a gift worth more
than any smile,
and it will always be mine.


John H Davies

15th II 2011

I love the way

I love the way
you check under the bed
for spiders, before getting in.

I love the way
you take a sip of water
before turning out the light.

I love the way
you kiss me in the dark
before closing your eyes.

I love the way
you love the way
I love your ways.


John H Davies

14th February 2011

Long Distance

There was a phone box

just outside the school grounds

that smelt of pee, and although

I didn’t have a two pence piece

to call her, I could dial the

number and listen to the tone

in the receiver and imagine

the phone simultaneously

ringing in our hall at home.

And this tenuous connection

was a crumb of cold comfort,

as after a few visits I learned

that if a phone remained

unanswered for long enough

the equal tones eventually

became one long continuous

tone, like a flat-line

in a hospital death bed scene.

John H Davies

13th February 2011 

Infection Control

In our doctor’s
surgery you
have to
push a pad
to open
the automatic
front door,
and in the
lobby
there is a
screen
you touch
to confirm
your arrival.

But all the
magazines
have been
removed
from the
waiting room
due to
risk of
infection.


John H Davies

12th February 2011

People you meet in pubs - 2

He wouldn’t strike you as a ladies’ man,
though he carried himself with a blitheness
that belied his twenty stones, and his tongue
was light as a feather and equally bold
especially after the third or fourth pint
which he swallowed like a medicine,
holding court to the willing on-listeners.

He was proud of the fact that on the only
occasion he decided to risk infidelity
during his marriage and cheat on his wife,
he had gone to great lengths to choose the most
unlikely place on earth to avoid detection.
‘Have a guess,’ he offered, (and we shrugged)
‘The Nolfolk Poultry Club Autumn Show.’

Arm in arm, they wandered along rows of
Bantams, Frizzles and Faverolles and looking
ahead in romantic anticipation saw the familiar
figures of his wife and mother-in-law walking
straight towards them. ‘That took some explaining’
he confided, feigning convincing hurt at the
injustice of it, but he didn’t bother again.


John H Davies

11th February 2011

The Pyramid Builders

See the crowds in Tahrir Square
forcing democratic change
upon their rulers.

See how one thousand years
of democracy has bred
such complacency

that no-one cares to crowd
our squares to change
our wayward rulers.


John H Davies

10th II 2011

Joe

Joe made friends with a bold innocence
and Gallic charm that both disarmed
you and endeared him. He never once
raised his voice and went to such lengths

to make you welcome it disguised
a layer of self preservation that survived
an Algerian war and two wives,
an itinerant life and a complicated son

whom he loved from an oil platform off the
West African coast until he retired and
returned to Provence and stopped smiling.
And when we saw him for the last time,

we thought someone else had occupied his
body, until after he died and his boy cried
that the selfish bastard had contracted AIDS
and never told him until the last moment.


John H Davies

9th II 2011

Angels

There’s an angel at the top of our stairs,

scattering seeds amongst a flock of

white doves by the light of a candle

held aloft like the statue of liberty.

I don’t believe in angels, not this type

anyway and besides, I thought they were

male, and seem to have missed the moment

they underwent gender re-assignment.

My angels aren’t bathed in white raiment

and fixed in a celestial hover, instead

they stare out from fading photographic

paper, no less vigilant by their absence,

and marking my every move, judging

each decision, sharing the pain

and the joy in equal measure, tamping

the ground ahead and lighting the way.

John H Davies

8th February 2011 

Light and Shadow

He didn’t need a watch,
and gauged the passing
of time and season
by the shadow cast
by the single oak
as it processed across
the conservatory floor.

She doesn’t need a watch,
because her shadow
cast by the tree
is born of his light;
bright and constant,
as it processes across
the conservatory floor.


John H Davies

7th February 2011

Air Miles

I decided I would bring you flowers
every week,
and did for a while.

And though they made you smile
it seemed a crime
that only days before
they’d been cut
from under a Naivasha sky
and flown across
ocean and continent
to feed my unseasonable
sentimentality.

So instead I chose to wait
for the first
daffodils of spring.


John H Davies

6th II 2011

Concert Party

There was to be a magician, two dancing girls
and a singer, and ‘A’ Company had eagerly awaited
the day to brighten up the sober Belfast November.

As duty Subaltern, it was my job to collect them
from the airfield in an armoured car, and feeling
important as we entered our world, up the Falls Road

and into a fortress of corrugated iron, the cookhouse
for a dressing room, and an improvised stage in the
dining area with plastic chairs arranged in rows

and we piled in, still operational, restless and armed
to the teeth and ready for anything. Except the girls,
who weren’t up to much, and didn’t get up to much,

and the boys didn’t hide their disappointment as I sunk
deeper into my seat on the front row as the magician
sawed one of them in half, to a tremendous cheer

(for the wrong reasons) and I realised that this wasn’t
exactly going to plan. And then the singer walked on,
guitar in hand, and the room fell silent: ‘Alright lads?’

he said in a friendly scouser accent, and the ice was broken
by one or two intermittent baboon impersonations and
for a moment my faith in the English Tommy, for whom

I would have taken a bullet without a thought,
and they for me, was shattered into a thousand shameless
shards. But the singer wasn’t phased, almost as if he

anticipated this welcome, welcomed the anticipation,
and began to strum with a knowing smile, as if playing
to an empty room and proceeded to deliver his killer punch:

‘I am sailing, I am sailing, home again, cross the sea…’
And one hundred of Her Majesty’s pumped and primed
testosterone fuelled military machines fell into a reverie,

one hundred pairs of eyes, wells of stormy waters,
bold hearts trapped in a snare of sentimentality, that seemed
to capture the pity of the place, the role and the reason

and the final chords were lost in the thunderous cheer and
thumping of rifle buts against the linoleum floor and the
helicopter was late returning to the mainland that night.


John H Davies

5th II 2011

Fractured Limb

It struck the bough half way along its length
at the moment I chanced to be looking out
across the field towards the old oak.
Rather a forlorn tree, not the majestic
symmetrical shape you see in books
and standing alone at the head of a ragged hedge.
And yet it framed the window perfectly,
and it seemed unfair that it should be singled out
for such a ferocious, random attack. The lightening
felled the branch with a fizzing crack, and it
maintained a horizontal attitude as it fell
to the ground in slow motion, as the rain
hammered against the glass pane, the whole event
seeming oddly detached from reality,
and I searched for some divine meaning
but found none; a random act of nature;
and returned to my work, looking up some
half hour later to see the tree slowly burning
from its base, the flames eventually dying
to a pyre of smoke, doused by the still
teeming rain, and realizing I had witnessed
a random act of nature defying nature.
The tree lives on, still rather forlorn,
but every inch a king.


John H Davies

4th II 2011

Alternative Advent

I’m just letting you know
they appeared today,
a little late this year,
but no less welcome.
Because someone special
used to ring you and share
their advent wherever
you happened to be.

And although he’s not around,
you both made sure
the notion of him
would remain,
and proliferate
and recur in us -
like the snowdrops
that appeared today.


John H Davies

3rd II 2011

Further Distillation

Is it better to accept

who we are,

rather than

who we would

want to be…

how we are,

rather than

how we would

yearn to be…

…where we are,

rather than

where we would

hope to be…

…what we are,

rather than

what we would

aspire to be…

…when we are,

rather than

when we would

wish to have been?

John H Davies

2nd February 2011

Don Arturo Alpizar Vargas

It’s hard to imagine

a chest large enough to

carry it. But he carried

it with ease, on his sleeve.

He knew no boundaries

except those for crossing,

and he bore me over

frontiers on his bravado.

I may never learn how

or why I qualified for

his attention; there were

no flags or medals

for playing our game, and

he played it with such an

intensity it was as though

the lives of his family

depended on it, and all for

the chance perhaps one day

to clasp my shoulders again,

and call me brother.

John H Davies

1st February 2011