Pelicans and Flying Rays

The pelican’s a funny bird, its feathers could be cleaner
Though if its beak were half the size it would be somewhat leaner.
And when below it sees a ray a fishin’ in the water
It fights the urge to dive on in and join in with the slaughter.
The ray’s a jealous type you see, despite its calm demeanour,
The only way to calm it down is cans of Orangina.

Pass Notes

When I’m not in the room with you, you’re your old self.
Tall and indomitable.
Resolute of purpose.
A firm handshake, look ’em dead in the eye.
In the car I listen to the radio, and think you’d like this show.

When the lady in the next room goes, the sadness,
like soot falling down a chimney,
billows out across the corridor and settles for a while,
Hanging in the air along with her daughters’ words:
“She’s gone.” It’s only a few days before it’s your turn and ours.

Since then,

Mum’s face as she gave me the watch you wore every day
Clutching it in her hand and mine,
“Be a dreamer of dreams,” she said.
“A man among men, and walk the path with curiosity and joy.”
There’s nothing more to say, it’s the most beautiful quest.

Along with the small change and the comb you always kept in the pocket of your trousers,
there’s an old tin with a handful of fuses,
radiator keys and old batteries in your drawer.
I find a big list of stories and ideas, the things that you liked.
I listen to your old country and western tapes in the car, wear your coat.

I’m not in the room with you, but echoes are everywhere.
I try to at least act like I know what I’m doing.
It’s all there in how we live our lives:
A firm handshake, look ’em dead in the eye.
In the car I listen to the radio, and find more things you’d like.

Sleep Sound

I was woken from my sleep again by shouting from next door.
“Wake up!” she yelled. “Get up!” she screamed. “You’re no good any more.”

The last people I lived next to were kindly, gentle folk.
The most I really overheard was Sunday evening’s poke.

I lived above an old man once whose legs were amputated.
His daughter stayed there, smoked a lot, he sleep-talked while sedated.

Considering in abstract all the ways we intersect,
The bits of life we hear and share, the private sound’s effect –

I wonder if in quiet times they can hear me through the wall,
And if I seem a happy chap, or make no sound at all.

Shhh...I'm busy!

Excuse me a moment
I’m just trying to reconstruct
The curve of someone’s neck.

It’s fascinating, you see
To isolate little bits of her
And imagine how they feel.

I’m sure it’s important
But it just can’t compete with our careless tangle of limbs
Or the simple joy of holding her.

It’s nothing new to you,
But that feeling of exploring someone for the first time –
Well it changed the way things look to me.

I wish I could help you,
But behind my eyes are the last moments
Before we drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up, she was still there.
And even though she’s not in the crook of my arm now,
I plan to take her everywhere with me.