Fools Rush In

Perhaps the only way to win

Is not to play

Perhaps we’ll save our powder for

Another day,

And in the cultured gloom

Of empty rooms

The doubters will avoid the chance

To have their say.

And when the vision leaves the tracks

And marks the door,

They’ll claim the failure to predict

The final score,

Inevitable fate

That dissipates

the recollection of a time

When less was more.

John H Davies

8th January 2011

Empty Space

Somebody has dimmed the lights

and turned down the volume

just a notch,

and there’s an empty space

in the air hereabouts;

a large empty space

that somehow dilutes

as it fills.

But the images that repopulate it

stick like glue:

Big hands, big face

big smile, big heart;

(to name a few),

recycling his memory

with every breath.

And sometime soon

on a day much like this

when the light is dim

and the air seems thin,

the space around us

will fill again like oxygen

and we will

know him still.

(In memorandum MW)

John H Davies

7th January 2011

Suffer Little Children

Suffer little children, for they will suffer.

Spare them the odd tantrum, the lapse in manners,

the having all and wanting more.

 

Ignore the notion that you’re spoiling them,

instead indulge them rotten with only a modicum

of caution and less of guilt, for it won’t always be so.

 

 

And with every passing moment their vision will improve,

like the boy with the lazy eye who removes the corrective

patch and sees everything clearly for the first time.

 

So just for this fleeting moment, give them the gift

you cherish.

Suffer little children, for they will suffer.

 

John H Davies

4th January 2011 

Bragging about our dads - Part 1

‘My father swears

any gun dog

should be thrashed

to within an inch

of its life

before a shoot,

if it’s to be

any good.’

I wonder if it improved his aim?

John H Davies

5th January 2011

Dilworth

The fountain pen was missing

from his brother’s effects

and a little money,

but he took his ring

and the oil skin coat and had

‘something personal to fight for now.’

He’d only joined so they would

face the Turk together

but Tom caught scarlet fever

in Cairo and was gone

forever, and yes

the padre said

dulce et decorum est,

even though he hadn’t fallen

in battle (he reported to his parents)

adding that if ever he got

into action, poor old Tom’s death

would make his eye clearer

and his aim surer –

Someone shall suffer!

Dilworth didn’t suffer,

the officer wrote the following month.

John H Davies

4th January 2011

Upon You Will The Stars Shine

Upon you will the stars shine,

when the moon had dipped

below the horizon;

when the sun is obscured

by the shadow of the past;

when the fire’s last ember

cools to fatal dust:

Upon you will the stars shine.

John H Davies

3rd January 2011 

Bridges

I will cross that bridge

when I get to it,

whether it be a

bridge too far or a

bridge over troubled

waters, I will bridge

the gap not with a

bridging loan or an

abridged version, but

a large bridge building

exercise: A full

span multi arch box

girder cable stayed

cantilever toll

charging suspended

and latticed covered

pontoon bailey bridge.

John H Davies

2^nd January 2010 

New Year's Revelation

He awoke with the notion

that each elapsing second

was both a step further

into the future

and a step back

into the past,

and that time was travelling

in opposite directions

simultaneously,

and this discovery

comforted him.

John H Davies

1st I 2011

Old Scars

A scar is like a memory,

(the old man said

as she dressed his arm,)

a fading reminder of the

body’s journey,

a historical

roadmap to be consulted in

idle moments,

unveiling highways

and byways long forgot, welt by

fading welt, as

a breath against a

window pane reveals a blemish

for a fleeting

second and is gone.

John H Davies

31sr XII 2010 

Prison Cat

Cats are a sham. You can’t train a cat.

You don’t have a relationship

with a cat.

Cupboard love they call it.

I instinctively knew this when one

materialised at the bars

of my cell

window, ginger and thin,

and squeezed itself through, with no hint of

a vetting process. I, the choice

for cell-mate,

a silent partner with

whom to share the boredom, beans and rice.

Watching her come and go with ease

opened an

imaginary door,

and we shared private intimacies

that only lovers do: feigning

indifference

as, positioned neatly

on the edge of the toilet rim she

performed her task with the poise of

a tightrope

walker; or when, after

a kick from a guard she came to our

cell and silently delivered

three still, half

formed new arrivals – new

meat. Haggis came to mind as I flushed

them away, one by one while she

watched. It was

what she wanted. I could

tell from her face. And when my time came

to return to the real world and walk

away from

the open cell door,

I felt an indignant stare drilling into my back.

John H Davies

30th XII 2010

Nain (Welsh - Grandmother)

To be crippled with arthritis at forty

would give anyone the right to be

a bit chippy.

Grandchildren scattered when she waved

her crutches in matriarchal semaphore,

and I was scolded

for making a mess of the downstairs

toilet hand basin, her private bathroom

when she visited

as she couldn’t manage the stairs.

And on outings, she had to stay

in the car.

Once I returned to see how she was…

Didn’t she mind being left alone?

‘You get used to it,’ she said.

And as she lay dying in a hospital bed

we came to say goodbye unsure if she

knew we were there

until we walked away, and turning

I saw a tear on her cheek and went

back and held her hand

wishing we could swap places

because I knew she hadn’t

‘got used to it.’

John H Davies

29^th XII 2010 

River Bend

Come with me as far

as the bend

in the river.

And as we draw

closer with every step

the view will widen

on the far bank,

revealing a glimpse

of pastures new

or maybe just

a similar view,

but

come with me as far

as the bend

in the river -

and you can decide

whether we stay

or carry on.

John H Davies

28^th XII 2010 

Love Song

I will be loving you

in the silence

between each breath;

in the pause

between each beat

of my heart.

I will be loving you 

in the space between

each passing cloud.

In the grey morning

and in the fading

twilight,

I will be loving you,

as the wind disturbs

the surface

of the still water.

And buried within the

womblike hum that is

the loudest quiet of all,

I will be loving you.

And in this silence

will you know me.

John H Davies

27th December 2010

Light Switch

Lights out! No talking!

Somebody flicks the switch

And all the cares of the day

Dissolve

Into an abyss

Of darkroom curtain black

Blocking out the slightest chink

Of life

Launching the nightly

Odyssey into that

Alternative world of soft

Focus

Safe, predictable

But finite until a

Pang of hunger calls you

To rouse

And you run from the

Light fumbling for the

Switch again and again but

You can’t

Find it despite all

The diligent practice

And never can because it’s

Too dark.

John H Davies

26^th XII 2010

Christmas Day

The Yule log has lost its lustre

Crackle Crackle Crackle

Avoided expectation driving

A deeper remorse

A shortened trip

Unwanted but wanted, instead

The rowing neighbours

Bang Bang Bang

A guilty memory

And everyone else happy

Burdened with tat

And this year snow

But the tank is dangerously low

Though the thaw will come

Drip Drip Drip

Soothing an ache

Short lived

The muses look on from every room

In silence

John H Davies

25th XII 2010