A Very St Clement Christmas
Angel, we’ve ground enough
black pepper into eyes,
peeled sufficient stinging
onions, chopped then wept,
guzzled gripe water;
enough for times two lifetimes yet.
Waken dreamings of a love
that could be saved
then imagine our river where
we might bathe.
Darling, we blitzed enough
humbug soup to choke on,
trampled a million sour
grapes beneath our vinegar feet;
quit smoking long enough
to watch our cravings retreat.
Spark up feelings of a love
that should be saved
Now walk with me to the
river, help me bathe.
Crush, we played many
piss-poor games, stray passes,
chested filthy balls, been
shot at hard, in the face,
took cards for the team
enough, flattered to deceive.
Weep tears for a love that
we both should grieve
hold hands by the river,
we’ll caress and bathe.
Lover, sufficient dark
shadows grew in darkening looks,
mascara running fast
enough to win Olympic gold
while cheering crowds
watch us grow ever more cold.
Recline in warmth of a
love we might yet save
when we sit by the river, mellowed
and bathe.
Fools…we wrote enough
black words into blacker books,
squinted at miniature
print, as with immaturing cries
year upon year age dimmed
our sight strained eyes.
Let the scales fall, see
what must be saved
Bend with me in the river,
kiss and bathe.
Precious, we wasted time,
always ever giving not living,
chewed other people’s
grizzle, swept up the crumbs
of toe rags, bearded hags,
plastic bag crusted scum.
But here come such moments
to love and save
Now join me in the river,
embrace and bathe.
Cherished, we’re bleeding
hearts hugging missing links,
printing labels for
children, papering over cracks
in damp classrooms that
stink of the care they lack.
Teach me to count in love
that we shall save
stroke me in the river,
we’ll enter and bathe.
Beauty, will we soon tire
of excuses for being used?
Lose acquired taste for
dry-white turkey gobbled meat,
sucking fluff-muffled bits
from between sticky teeth?
When we gaze in wonder at
what might be saved
We’ll dive into the river,
come together to bathe.
Beloved, too long we’re
hunted, tracked by jealous dogs,
chained to cold blooded
moons. Those come-too-quicks
scent freedoms to think;
trap us with their sleeping sick.
Conceal our trails with
its welcoming waves,
we’ll entwine in the river,
enter and bathe.
Sweetheart, conjured murky
visions won’t thaw iced hearts.
Slow motioned freeze-dried
dreams; every ill word,
every message replayed
reverbs in whispers heard.
Love’s sun will melt passion
deserved of saving
throw ourselves into the river,
rejoice in bathing.
My love, have we left
enough time to sing our own song?
Or is her distance too
great, ticking cruel seconds beyond
her rhythm, gone her
rhymes to where we can’t belong?
One day she might show us
her kindest face
plunge into her rivers, to
surface and bathe.
Oh baby, you fret nights
that the cards cannot come
this Christmas or next,
perhaps any hope will cool,
remembered fevers and
passions may no longer rule
but peace now, love, be
still: tomorrow we will be saved.
We’ll drink again at the
river, to quench and bathe.
No comments:
Post a Comment