Sunday, 13 May 2012
Mam, you inherited the name of your gran,
But you didn’t follow suit with me.
I know you don’t do predictable;
I'd hardly forgive you
If you tied me to a Christian name
You set me free in late October,
Free from your innerness of milky blue,
Free to stretch and yawn
And hear and see
And suck my thumb; like you.
You probably thought I’d be your image,
In temper and stand alone,
So you made me a Scorpio,
Let me share with Picasso,
And those five Demoiselles d'Avignon.
I’m Regan, I’m Royal,
Blue blood in my veins,
Like the middle daughter of King Lear,
Like my Dad, a prince among men,
Just Dada for now,
He told me I’d never know hunger or fear.
And Mam, you think this is your day,
A little ceremony, pomp,
Age old tradition.
Father Peter presiding, two grannies guiding,
Chorus of welcome to me;
You all believe I’m not aware
Of the jokes and jibes and fellowship true,
I’m Regan, I’m real, your flesh and blood,
You waited for me, I waited for you,
Thank you for life; this is my day too!
Wednesday, 2 May 2012
milking shapes from space,
mirrored in the face.
sweet sweat, flair and skill
ancient branch and bough,
for vision’s furrowed brow.
emerging from the elm,
genius at the helm.
carved from nature’s dead,
past and present
sharing common bed.
oak and gleaming yew.
hill, Barley Harbour
Casey’s place,where master labours still.
(Dedicated to Michael Casey, the greatest wood sculptor in the world)