University Poetry Portfolio - Part Two
Part two of my portfolio, this selection of poems was from the work I did in class over the course of the module. Warning - poems deal with topics of death and terminal illness.
The Evening News
A sky full of static,
too noisy and bright.
Who is to say she lives,
and that he dies?
Too many people.
Too much grief.
Too much lost.
And it’s not fair.
But we become immune,
get on with our lives.
So I will tell you
that I’m fine.
But I’m not.
I’m far from fine.
I saw a dead loved one
on the news that night.
Words - Part One
The tests were entirely routine,
Scans and samples on screens,
Grim results to a trained eye.
The illuminated boards seemed dark,
And we all solemnly agreed:
“She’s a CTD, a definite AGMI.”
I sat her down one morning,
She was nervous, fretting the news,
With a stomach full of butterflies.
The words came out with ease,
Technical and medical - learnt by heart:
I explained that she was going to die.
A malignant cluster of cells,
Pressing and crushing her brain,
No doubt, she was going to die.
I spoke without pause or hesitation,
In a tone serious and sympathetic,
And she just sat there looking at my tie.
Words - Part Two
he talks
to me all these words and
it’s in my head something
in my head and i’m not
words words he has
lots of words.
and the words don’t make sense. but
i just look at his tie and
i wonder i wonder who bought him
that tie. birthday or christmas present
and they thought it looked funny
because he’s a doctor and meant to be serious.
and they thought hey get him it
a funny tie to cheer the patients up.
he explains things
to me they don’t make sense
there’s no sense at all in his words
but there’s that tie and
what will i tell the kids
i’m going to die
what a funny tie but
it’s not really cheering me up.
it’s a funny tie but i can’t
make sense so
i’ve missed the joke about
the funny tie that someone bought him
to cheer the patients up.
Bicycle and the Fisherman
Spindles and spokes spinning,
hurtling down the paths.
A flash of red,
zooming past the trees
Trill of the bell,
squeak of the breaks.
Racing the earth,
along the streets
and soaring down the bay.
That’s what I used to remember.
Now you’re gone,
off to roam the sea.
Such a dangerous job,
what happens if you don’t come back?
You can’t answer me,
can you?
Because you went under,
lost in a storm.
And I’m left alone,
rusting.
The Visitor Without Credentials
Late one night
under an empty sky,
the chimneys silently smoked
a heavy, killing smog.
The businessman sat
in his shadowy office,
and counted his money,
checking his boots, scrutinizing,
every scrawl of numbers in a giant ledger.
The businessman hunched over his desk.
Over looked by a portrait,
the grimacing face of his father
hidden in the gloom.
And he counted his money,
Chuckling, never a problem.
Powerful and rich,
The businessman knows
that he can buy his way out of anything.
And with a crackle of white,
a man suddenly stood before his desk.
Great wings rustled at his back,
his head bowed in majesty.
The businessman stared in shock
and a hand flew to his chin.
He reached for the bundles of cash,
hoping to buy his way out.
The angel stood tall and proud and still,
fiercely burning and sparking
a violent light of another world.
And with a hand outstretched,
he soundlessly spoke:
“It is time.
For in the end, we are all the same.
Rich or poor, all mortal men must die.”