This could be Ian McMillan, only it’s not, its me
This could be me sat here writing words, only its not
This could be a picture of me sat here with words
Only
Only
Its not a picture, its words
poem
Hard Business thinking: Hangman Stone
I walked from Hangman Stone
Where crime swung on a gibbet
Outside villages as post it note
Stone church entrance embedded
In three red hearts three white skulls
Memory jogger
Here stone, wood, metal Christs open
Their wounds in three streets.
I walked towards Thurnscoe, a cock stride away, faced a grassy slagheap
Walked dusty ground broken glass, patchwork carpet oddment lining fields, two unhelmeted Scramblers/ riders screamed past
Two young boys help tractored farmer gather golden corn harvest
Laugh together in field edged
By housing estates
I walked down Chapel Lane
That no longer leads to a Chapel
Hard business thinking
Sacks
him hauling his bike up road
packed coalsack slung
across handlebars
See effort each step up
coal weight wobbles
him to say it shall not
‘Police Did This!’
sprayed board on a Fords’ broken
windscreen
Woodland Before And After
1. Burning Brashing
Sat back breathing bark
Small insects crawl
Down tree stretched above
inhabit hair
Worn gloves
Bruised brashing branches firewood
Breathe wet peat,
Damp soil, leaf decay,
Autumn dead leaf dance,
Spring bluebell wend
Summer sacred stainglass canopy sunshaft flame play
Winter heavesnow clear paths
Sat back breathing bark
canopy leaf horizon
floats shimmers
Calm
Calm
2. Woodland Boxed
Lift small boxes wooden lid smell
Broadleaved woodland
Before Rail/Road
Press plastic button hear
Skylarks, Meadow Pipits, Woodpeckers,
Before Rail/Road
Reach inside through rubber feel
rough bark, peaty soil, leaf texture
Before Rail/Road
Press plastic button watch
Videowalk ancient Beech, Oak, Birch
Before Rail/Road
Electronic Ringtone.
We would like to advise all visitors
The museum is closing soon.
Please exit through main door.
We hope you have enjoyed your visit.
Thankyou for visiting. Please come again.
Stone 2: Striding Edge
Two stairs down from landing
Sister and I safe
Neither half up, or halfway..
Hill/Mountainside braced against icy
Gust Mam/Dad below igneous lava erupt at each other two hills supported us till now
Silence, lounge door opens Mam climbs
Stairs/hill/mountainside, and as she speaks ice encrusts solid rock expands
Rock falls away making valley sides
Sister and I stand on Striding Edge razorback, serrated edge five years later
Cold mist, prevailing wind, ice brings wet eyes
Skyblue Flying Monks Air Venture Scout Sweatshirts, black M superimposed over black F. bird of prey with divorced Dad hiking Helvellyn, sandstone step gingerly damp slips hands/boots, Kevin Keegan Afro black sheep fleece flops side to side
hiking boot midair, sharp intake, drop down to Red Tarn somewhere in mist,
Somewhere in mist Sisters/Dads hand.
Manoeuvre frozen legs, up, over, round,
Shifting from one side edge to the other,
Weeks with Mam, Weekends Dad,
Careful what you say, interrogation from both. Mist clears enough for summit sight. Time away at college. Focus. Careful to have three rock holds. Focus. Remember once summit reached always another higher later. My hands support Sister/Dad/Mam when sides fall away.
Stone 1: Malham Cove
Aged 14, geography trip Malham Cove trip , as dry stone wall settles on the ground it strengthens itself and tightens up, stone language, harsh Millstone Grit to soft Limestone once coach underwater diving a new world, breathe easier
Gordale Scar, no bullying scar hurt glorious edge dried waterfall, hike to Tarn, not Barnsley Tarn, Malham Tarn, buildings rare, no pubs, no roads, no red brick terraces here, only water. Water coursing
Clints/grykes, pavement lacking bins, lampposts, Zebra crossings. Water work
Underground, hidden rivers reverberated in me as memory then history. I took it back as new dialect.
Game
Some fruitcakes call me tart. Bitter. Sour maybe but
I’m not … I was just sat.
Sat like any normal fruit.
He picked us up. All three. Easy for him he was ambi dextrous. He knew a thing. Took us to his flashing
lights. His mobile disco at this evening wedding do. Took us into the dark behind the doings. Larked
with guests. Saying it’s all a game. Not obscene at all. . He’d had a word”. The bride on the quiet OK’d
it. Disco said “Can I have … ” Dont remember exact.
I dont. He had ‘three girl fun. He wanted three to come
up to his three chairs.
Three chairs. I tell you there he’d put three chairs outstretched in a line. The girls sat on edge
on them. They had to ask out three men. Not their shouts. men they fancied. They did. Disco played ‘The Stripper’ and
turned it off. Unfinished. And threw us to fingers. The girls. Then we did it. We didn’t ask for it.
The girls-pushed-us-up the menstrouser legs-stone washed denims. I could smell his hot cobs dripping off of me. His spots.
His legs. Rough. With blisters. Football. Squash. Little cists. All bony. Sticking me. My rind broke, bleeding. His jeans bound
tight.’ My zest wept and blebbed. I-feel-vio-Ia-ted. His lace crutch tickled then. He had girls panties on.
Kinky bastard. Scab. Just brief it was. Then she squeezed me down his other one.
My juice filling a long
bruised scar on his thigh. Were injury or other.
Pressure went. I plopped out to laughter and her smart
hands, threw me back. Missed by feet. Picked us up off of the-meat platter.Back to Disco’s grin.
One press stopped me bleeding.
Manhandled to the bar
they squashed us in this crap, wasted buffet. Now so
spoiled they dont want to know.
Manhandled to the sink bar cut us for a drink:
One tasty cocktail slice. One tainted lick of spice.
Magic Prescription
Magic a grandkids hug
Round the middle
Softens sharp nails
Smooths frayed edges
Unaware hug anyway
Any how whatever any why
All hammering
All awkward shaving down
Gone in an instant
Grandkids hugs should be
Ever prescribed
On NHS
Klutz
Your such a klutz
As I pull out my wallet
And silver coin falls out
I hold your warm hand
After all these years
And something passes
Something does not fall
Curve: Seven Breaths
…his breath close fitting fingers trace fleshbreaths tight follows her wetcurve her quickening breathlight bends and at heatspeed time slows (at the extent of light and him deep breathing inside her light bends backwards upon itself) deep breathing inside him muscle bends tight curve backwards upon themselves…
The Wombwell Rainbow 