WENDY WEBB

 

Beyond New Year Sunset

Twinkling Peace

It’s a New Year,

rumours of floods, tsunamis and other imponderables.

The dead haven’t died yet,

the living are crossing their fingers.

The grieving cannot hear gorgons on their horizon,

straitjackets of crises cannot untangle whether

it is best for a living death

or death in life.

My daughter is simply a dream,

my sons nightmares aired on Halloween.

Love is love, family is all,

like paper boats on the tide of a fire at sea,

smoke billowing, sails acrid as a BBQ.

No last berth of the Temeraire,

tugged into glorious sunset harbour for recycling.

Stone letters punching the word: POET.

My walking stick clacks on the pavement,

repetitious as other people’s grandchildren.

Wrapped snugly in woolen coat, hat, gloves, snood,

rain simpers on and on and into the sleeves’ creases.

Sodden soil gathers gleefully around

Springtime’s buried hope.

Fingers crossed, Wars rage beyond distant seas,

floods drain, rivers silt up, wildlife sanctuaries are blessed.

Pray for the cold, cold stars to twinkle Peace.

It’s Time To Say Goodnight, 

Sweetheart (Pantoum)

For there’s no human way to die, that’s good,

all death is loss: of love, and absence: pain.

Then pour a glass of wine, that’s understood

to face Grim Reaper’s foulest news again.

All death is loss: of love, and absence, pain,

ignore the shrieking mobile phone, that speeds

to face Grim Reaper’s foulest news again.

The messenger pours out his own base needs.

Ignore the shrieking mobile phone that speeds

quick comfort to a combatant’s foul prattle.

The messenger pours out his own base needs,

then disconnects before the next late battle.

Quick comfort to a combatant’s foul prattle?

Pick up the landline. Rage and sob. Your friend

then disconnects before the next late battle.

There’s walking wounded, dressings. Meds defend.

Pick up the landline, rage and sob. Your friend,

too young, unfair, macabre. Your ersatz tongue,

there’s walking wounded, dressings, meds defend

the gut of guilt, the future’s smashed and wrong.

Too young, unfair, macabre? Your ersatz tongue

soon pseudo-sympathises, where it pleases.

The gut of guilt, the future’s smashed and wrong,

it’s time to say Goodnight as love releases.

Soon pseudo-sympathisers, where it pleases,

then pour a glass of wine, that’s understood.

It’s time to say Goodnight as love releases,

for there’s no human way to die that’s good.

Home Again 

Home again...

what are chores, repeated? Just a stain.

Never are they done. Life’s always pain.

Wow, what to do now home again.

Nature’s wild.

Garden’s vibrant with harsh wind and storm,

Global Warming’s shredded peace reform.

Whose home again dreams nature’s wild?

How can I go out?

All about: bars/theme parks take the strain.

Why can’t I dance in the rain?

Now it’s plain I’m home again.

Home again

Can I catch a train where dreams remain?

It’s so insane, my brain can’t drain

to yesterday, back home again.

How can I go out?

All about: bars/theme parks take the strain.

Why can’t I dance in the rain?

Now it’s plain I’m home again.

ACROSTIC Summer Drones 

To Sting-Blue Skies

June is sticky with rain masquerading as sunshine,

Useless laundry litters floor, changeable as storm clouds.

Next, perhaps, she will go out and forget.

Endless Politics bore the West, playing at War;

Snufflings left in the playpen of home and family squabbles.

Mother was always present, churning out Sunday roasts,

Enjoying grandchildren’s screams of laughter,

Moments in the garden, though lately, overwhelming.

Ordered calm of smiles and scents of a full table, and pud.

Red fat orbs, gifted from the greenhouse, by Dad.

It’s Autumn too soon to shiver at sudden Winter, descending.

A lonely Christmas feast last year, with all the trimmings, no crackers.

Leaving, eight weeks apart, nothing except grave ashes of absence.

The war drones on, new wars, rumours of wars disputin’ peace:

Enough of growing bloody tomatoes, time for rocket sunflowers

Sunbathing in Mediterranean skies, heads turning to sunset.

Today, eyes drizzle like orphans; tomorrow, it’s the first Anniversary.

WENDY WEBB

WENDY WEBB loves nature, wildlife, symmetry and form and the creative spark. Published in Reach, Sarasvati, Quantum Leap, Crystal, Dreich, Seventh Quarry, The Journal, The Frogmore Papers, Acumen, Drawn to the Light; online in Littoral, Lothlorien, Autumn Voices, Wildfire Words, Atlantean, Poetry Kit, Amateur Gardening, Leicester Literary Journal, Drawn to the Light, Poetry Wivenhoe, Seagulls (Canada), forthcoming: Poetry Breakfast; broadcast Poetry Place. Book: Love’s Floreloquence; Landscapes (with David Norris-Kay) from Amazon.