I used to be nice
Years ago
I composed this wish
Never noticed the clichés
I meant no vice:
may you go from strength to strength
may you soar over every sapping strain
may you float on the cushion of your dreams
until your sun sleeps and acorns reach maturity.
_________________
Note:
On 24th December 2005 – I self-published that bold stanza on my blog. Spot the phrase that doesn’t feel like a cliché to you …
I wish for Plenty:
manna, songs, dancing, smiles
gin, tonic, lime – even porter and champagne
especially the hugs of others
warm hearths for my belly
I wish for nothing less than a place at the next resurrection.
(I found no seat at the last supper.)
What I’m greedy for now lies beyond
nights of sleep, hummingbirds, smoked salmon, diamonds.
Tis daylight peace without end.
(It is a blessing to want.)
My longing rose from the dead on Monday evening
not long after a shrink spilled her seed on fertile ground
and stones moved in concert.
I wish I knew the secret of how to sow miracles
the way a spirit splits and multiplies
the rising of the sun.
(At least I remember her name.)
There’s nothing like a breath drawn up an elephant’s trunk
nothing like the atmosphere of air
Lazarus found out – and so did I.
Maybe I’ll remember how to wish next time round the mulberry
– trees breathe, leaves bud again.
There’s plenty to be found.
I wish for nothing in particular
nor gold, nor silver
nor the slightest material star
Not even the love of another being
nor warmth from the sun.
I wish for nothing beautiful.
What I crave lies beyond words
beyond prayers, beyond faith
beyond me: it is dead.
It died on a Thursday afternoon
not long before the assent
to the peak of Christmas dawned.
I wish for the return of the property
stolen from air I use to breathe
– I have a nickname for it.
But the memory is punctured
the proper name dribbled away
beyond reach, beyond breath.
It refuses to respond to my cries
lets the echo fester and reek of cracked eggs
in case I forget it wasn’t always so.
I wish it was like Lazarus
reincarnated human.
Maybe I’ll go on wishing and breathing too…
____________________________
Note:
Composed just before xmas 2015. With special thanks to Lars.
From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 