Poetry

Monument

I am at the monument to gay people persecuted during the war.
Steps lead to a point
Which looks to a future, the sign reads
Water in the canal comes up against the strong stone,
And recedes.
There are a group of women sitting on the steps dressed all in black.
They have champagne flutes in their hands
And are speaking a language I don’t understand
It looks like a celebration,
And in a way it is,
They move forward and place white flowers
At the furthermost point
Position them carefully across each other.
Memories flow over and into the water
Carried through the air
Moved by their grief.
The celebration of a life left,
Taking the next step, the loss felt.
I hope the person knew how much their friends cared.
There are tears now,
But they pool close
To one another.
EMC
Photo by the author 

Graduation

“Today marks a gateway to a future

which can hold on for just one more minute.

For now,

It’s about being proud.

All the hours at the library,

vindicated.

Study booth book tower uncomfy pillow,

Theorising throwing a silent housewarming

party to cries of “the library is my new home…”

 

All the stress,

Intellectual and mental health tests,

When it felt like it might be sink instead of swim,

Toes in at the deep end,

Push up, and here you are,

Reading the Thank You page,

The parents, carers, partner, friends, the helpful experts who lent a hand.

 

People hug and beam,

Proud as punch,

Punch-drunk on a heady elixir of fulfilment with a dash of fear

Of the unknown, that rogue.

But here is the finish line, for the current round.

What next? What was it all for?

Hold those thoughts,

the day is yours.

 

EMC

Release

Teeth brushed clean,

bra unclipped,

first fresh air,

shoes unslipped.

 

Downpour in the heat,

fresh clean sheets,

flash-filled kitchen floats on the scent of coffee beans.

 

Post-hike pint,

pre-booked taxi arrives on time,

first shower after the fest,

sink into pillows instead of wet grass-mess.

 

Downers on the outside,

crashing loud, a landslide,

blissful moments just in reach,

unfold,

if incomplete.

Side by side,

Weighted nights by fleet-foot rays of light.

 

EMC

Photo by the author.

 

 

continues

I give

my mind

my body

my time

who I am

who I wish to be

and who I was

And now you’re a part

of the past, apart, from me

and I don’t want to think of the day when I

give

my mind

my body

my time

who I am

who I wish to be

and who I was, to someone else,

now a part

of my past, apart, from me

and I don’t want to think of the day

I give

my mind

my body

my time

who I am

who I wish to be

and who I was, to someone else,

now a part

of my past, apart, from me

and I don’t want to think of the day

I give

my mind

my body

my time

who I am

who I wish to be

and who I was, to someone else,

now a part

of my past, apart from me,

and I don’t want to think of the day

I give…

(ad infinitum)

 

EMC

photo by the author

New Poem Published

On Friday 28th April a new literary mag launched – Paisley Poems. To write my contribution for this I cast my mind back to what it was like growing up in Paisley; spending time with grandparents, our regular haunts and familiar past times.

You can purchase the mag in person at Abbey Books or Rainbow Turtle in Paisley, or online at paisleypoems.scot for a very reasonable £1.50.

EC

Hewn

Glacial,

people pass,

push new routes through.

Friction forms heat,

metes the ice –

leaves you forever shaped by their shape.

Slim surface layers

become

pebbles

incremental.

Breaking away,

new, hew, paved.

Sloughed off,

the bare rocks watch

what will be brought,

and ask, how long have we got

EMC

Image Loch Coruisk, Isle of Skye by George Fennel Robson

Realise

She walks all night

But it’s summer

So it’s still light

And what is night looks like day,

The moon

At play.

Kneading the frustration

Out on her skin

Almonds and honey rise,

Fake scent from the bottle

But she isn’t going to

Mix it herself,

So the imitation it is.

If you didn’t know in advance

Could you tell

A blind test

Every time my mouth meets another’s.

When I tasted her,

I thought she was the real thing.

EC

Image: Summer, Margaret Macdonald, c1894

Dare

I am the good girl,

The play by the rules girl

Obey, abide, stay on the right side

And I’m told, everything’s going to be alright.

But inside I’m divining that new stars might be aligning,

Shapes I’ve never seen before, they make me feel like molten gold.

Daring to begin, performing roles I’ve never seen,

Before a friend tells me over lunch that it’s a sin,

I brushed it off   but it’s sunk in.

I didn’t know that my exploring was corroding years of doting

On the notions, those outmoded, that then goaded, questions pouring,

I was soaring then came floating,

Down into the gloaming,

And everything looked different,

And like I’d never known it.

You learn to masquerade, to hide,

Become a master of disguise.

It’s strange to conjure up a past

Where you hoped that you would not be asked

To hold that adoration clasped

Like water running through your hands.

The right direction is emerging

And still my thirst needs quenching.

When a book explains beyond hers and his

To inform teachers and their school kids

The usual rags smear their grease all over it.

Or when schools have the freedom

To erase us from the curriculum,

Is the path to relationships

Not even more treacherous to manage

when your fumbles loves and kisses

Are completely missing?

As if you’re non-existent.

Imagine what that absence does to a young mind over time…

When mirrors lose their shine,

Obscured reflections leave us all blind.

 

It’s the weekend and I’m caught up,

Tongue tripping to keep this form up

When sparks fizz,

And lips meet,

And we knock hips

And bump teeth.

But I’m in the bubble, I forget,

Take a step back, just check…

Can’t rest.

But I dare to trust,

That those who paved the paths before us,

We share the same stuff as they were made of:

Heart and strength and deep reserves,

Educating ignorance even when it hurts.

The love that dared not speaks its name has long been amplified,

Its ripples reaching far and wide

Decibels take on the tide,

And into these familiar waves we leap

Every time we dare to speak.

E.C.

First performed at ‘Dare to Speak’ for LGBT History Month. 

Photo by the author.