he said lose the first
two lines
she said
cut it
after line four
which leaves me wondering
which one to ignore?
Metaftertheiradvice (a poem about editting)
she said
cut it
Meta (a poem about a poem)
2 Replies
Author Archives: Sarah Dolan
Neighbour
on the other side of this wall
is somebody else’s house
full of their things
their smells and
the memories of their life
we say hello
exchange cards every Christmas
sometimes I bake him a cake
but he has never shown me
the other side of this wall
The difficulty of a new spoon
The technology of the tablet doesn’t phase her
and with the agility of an Olympic gymnast
travels from BBC to ITV
and back again
with the swipe of a finger
swinging between a period drama to a murder mystery.
Sometimes she worries she will not have the time,
time to catch up before the programmes disappear for ever.
Having fingers bent at the ends,
just like her mothers,
she finds the spoon more difficult
and its contents
(half liquid, half solid)
she blames on the nurse.
Snapshot
You can see us all in the photograph
the stripy busy bee still talking
the red-laced late and ready to get away early
the one who always looks away but sees everything
the carrying something for somebody else and making it look difficult
the eager to be in the middle with both elbows
the head on one side happy to hover just in case
not forgetting the one behind the camera
out of shot?
two strangers
seated
side by side
writing their own story
in silence
Assisted living
build me a bungalow with en-suite commodes
undergrass heating which comes on when it snows
vertical grip bars on the shower and bath
a resident clown
a permanent laugh
a gym with a trainer who isn’t that keen
a diet of chocolate
a body that’s lean
a posse of men all scantily clad
a lost marble replacer
a resident vet
mount me a laser gun over the door
a virtual family that I can ignore
include a disco
a hot tub
a sauna
panoramic views
varied flora and fauna
build me a bungalow
up to the sky
a palatial erection
and a great place to die
Falling out with my alarm clock
Every day I find a hundred reasons
to fall out of love with the world
starting with the alarm clock
when it rings
when it doesn’t ring
with it’s clockwork regularity
with it’s irregular movements
when it has a blip
or it forgets
when it remembers
to loose time
when it rings before it should
when it gobbles up time for breakfast
when it stops for a rest and makes me late
when it’s tick doesn’t tock
when it tocks
when it tocks too much
when it tocks too early
when it’s too tocking early
when it falls out with my watch
and neither can be trusted to tell the truth
when it’s tock doesn’t tick
when it’s ticking too fast
when it’s ticking too slow
every day it tocks
every day it ticks
and one thing’s for sure
I’m not in love with it
The hospice
They do the extraordinary twenty-four – seven,
hiding the tools of their trade behind spring-loaded wooden panels.
Gone is the pressurised oxygen tank and the drip of drugs.
Behind bright candy-striped outfits,
name badges, and a relaxed attitude to dogs and children,
they mask the grim reality.
But most extraordinary of all,
they have found a way to smother pain,
hide the person – until a smell of something familiar escapes.
Gran’s shopping list
BREAD,
(from the shelf behind the counter;
wound in a single sheet of white tissue paper by working hands;
warm to the touch as I held it skipping all the way;
to its place centre table;
to be unwrapped by the hands I trusted to be there for ever;
to be sliced to the same rhythm, not the rhythm of the tea cups being stirred,
nor the rhythm of the phone being dialled, or the rhythm of the clock ticking;
as the golden dust of scorched flour settled on the scratched bread board;
left over crumbs were tidied away – tossed into the fire)
& BUTTER,
(cold from the pantry under the stairs,
working with an enormous knife with a yellow handle,
I rip holes for things to fall through,) things like
BAKED BEANS, &
SUGAR.
Awen Bus
Go to YouTube and type Cross Border Poets to see the recording we did on 11 August 2015 when the Awen bus tour came to Mold – all to do with the celebrations for the 10th anniversary of the Wales Millenium Centre in Cardiff on Saturday – super duper.
The start of Autumn
Smell the expectation
as the earth snuggles down
under layers of summer cast-offs fastened
with buttons of left-over daisies
Watch the tired wind
as it tiptoes down from the hills
to tickle the damp socks on the line
High up on the eves of next door’s house
comes a silent announcement
from an empty nest
There is less to notice
but lingering no longer seems justified
Remember the sand and the seashells
inside socks
between toes
left on the pillow
Now our pockets share their tissues
heavy washing waiting
for the return of a perfect summer’s day