Moving on

It has been said that death is
the ship sailing over the horizon.

Sometimes it feels the other way round;
that those we love have finally settled on the shores of time
and with one last gesture
swung the bottle against our bows
to ease us down the slipway
into the ocean of
of our own
history.

Now we are alone,
untied from the bonds that in turn
nurtured us, then needed us.

Now the definitions change
and memory recolours
all the chores, the repeating conversations, the anxieties
of the frail.
And maybe memory will also serve
to resurrect the dimmer days
when life as young and strong as ours
strung days together with a confidence
long gone.

Times and tides roll on;
days will gather distance from the dead
although the maps they gave us
will never cease to set our compasses
and aid our navigations through the night.

And here are we,
nearer by a generation,
to the final shore on which we stake our place of rest;
to launch our children
unguided, unencumbered
on their deep uncharted seas.

(c) A McN

Written for Clive on the death of his father. We did not know how close he was to launching his own children on the deep uncharted seas.

Same Mould

I watched you on the beach,
In the cool. clear evening light;
Moving like a crab across the
Glistening pebbles,
Blue bucket swinging idly from your hands.

I had been calling you from the spiced air of the barbecue,
But my words drifted like smoke.
I stood, holding your plate of hot food
While you, a hundred feet away,
Stood in another universe,
Deafened by wonder.

At last I realised your world was the better of the two.
Slowly, almost reverently, I walked to you,
Feeling like a disciple at his master's feet.

You were alive with discovery,
Herding crabs, tracing the hypnotic sway of anenomes, and watching the slow glide of winkles on the sand.

And I knew
From the deep love I felt for you
And the intense clarity of the moment,
That we both came
From the same mould.

(c) A McN

Alien timepiece

I awake,
dimly aware of its vast presence,
creeping silently through the salty creeks
beyond the black frizz of trees.

The hairs on the back of my neck tingle
but whether it is fear or thrill
is hard to tell.

In the dark,
the sheer weight of its coming,
the magnitude of stately momentum,
bends the land, creaking the rocks
to perceptible shivers that even a worm might hear.

Alien timepiece coupled to the moon,
the tide ticks through the night,
ever later than it was,
crawling round the clock
to strange and awkward times
with steady and relentless pace
regardless of the rhythms of
the human race.

(c) A McN

Since moving to the coast the tide has become an important rhythm but it is so hard to keep track that a few days away leaves me edgy. I love the full flood Springs best of all. They gave me that same feeling of life's bounty that I get in the presence of puppies, children playing, spring days and pregnant women!

Watching

I watch you on stage, holding the crowd with a mix of humour, humanity and bare faced audacity.
You cajole us, coerce us, inspire us by turns.
And nobody suspects.

I see you mingling, moving in and out of conversations, smiling as you do,
Spreading fire and revolution,
Kindling passion for the broken.
And nobody suspects
The broken stand before them.

But I, by some privilege of grace,
Am privy to the tumbled words, half articulated emotions,
The things that can only be half-said lest the saying of them burst the slender fibres
Holding strength and sanity together.

All you seek is a truce with life,
A hiding place, a sanctuary,
A glimpse of hope.

All I have to offer is a hug, a prayer;
A willingness to keep your secrets,
And to share your pain...

A feeble kind of love perhaps
But honest all the same.

(c) A Mc N