Seeping spring

Day by day spring seeps
into earlier hours-
waking dormant world!

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Let’s

Let’s re-learn how to bounce

after wiping out on a board

find the indestructible super hero

we never lost but kept stored

and hidden behind the years which passed.

Let’s ask the questions we’ve never asked,

too scared of looking like we don’t know what

we’re doing, which happens all too much

but is said all too few, and let’s put pva glue

on our hands, let it dry and peel it off

because we know that was fun.

Let’s run for running’s sake, chasing the horizon

let’s smile without thinking about what we’ve laid our eyes on

which triggered that smile. Let’s not censor laughs.

Let’s ride trolleys down a super market aisle,

and climb trees with beckoning branches and trunks

-let’s eat cake not in neat slices, but in handful chunks.

Let’s make forts in our gardens from twigs and leaves

Let’s go home in the evening with mud on our sleeves,

in our hair, on our shoes, and our faces-

Let’s raise our eyes once in a while and fill them with space,

imagining aliens and creatures which we forgot with time which took us-

Let’s lose ourselves in the pages, the worlds of corner-dwelling books.

Let’s dance when we hear good music- regardless of ability

Let’s try handstands and cartwheels ignoring our self-proclaimed fragility.

Let’s wrap ourselves in bubblewrap, but in the literal sense

– for fun not defence.

Let’s unlearn some of the things

which time has tried to teach,

in spite of our grasp of limitation,

let’s re-learn how to reach.

the dance class

Feet traipse in from the streets and the desks,

the to do lists, the deadlines

with the hope to find escape or something

like abandonment of sense and senses.

Shoulders tense and minds distracted,

blank eyes gaze, detracted and distant from

the moment- the instant with thoughts

in boxes and screens, holding glowing phone

faces screaming for attention, the ‘oh by the ways…’,

‘would you minds…’, and ‘did I mentions…?’

All vying to be seen by these traipsers

trying to be free.

 

Something calls

and bounces over

the top of the hunched escapees ,

quietly at first and with an ease

as natural as the heart thumping

a beat starts to drop

waiting for people to pick it up-

for feet weaving, bumping and grinding.

The wait isn’t long —

as the beats warm up,

kick in,

and surround,

toes start tapping, eyes crawl off the ground,

heady in the realisation that

this feeling’s sensation.

Without consulting the head,

feet and legs conspire,

wired by desire and need

not to be led but to lead

onto the pulsating dance floor

where the hips start talking,

hands sparking-

each move marking a fervid

rupture, far from the every day,

the salsa-soaked rapture

demands shakes and sways-

a language beyond words-

conversations between hands,

waists and shoulders

where impressions smoulder

and burn from the touch

– the room’s spinning

but intoxication’s not too much

but the perfect fill of the thrill of the yield

exposing the concealed.

Once glazed eyes now burn,

lips smile while bodies talk

in ones, twos, threes,

pausing for a breath,

fives, sixes and sevens

body hot, sweat on the brow

and the mind doesn’t know how-

not keeping up as the body

breaks the week down-

the heart bounds,

feet scrawl on the ground

all becomes a whirl

of wordless poetry

no reason but bodies rhyming

through beats and timing-

ecstatic and entranced.

The music stops.

you realise you didn’t do the dance-

you have been danced.

reluctant resolution

Day’s end and the year

bends and topples into another

– chapter closed, chapter opened –

pages lined with laughter, smiles, challenges, rapture

with questions, replete with intentions,

someone mentions resolutions and I pause.

I guess that’s the point of this time of year-

reflection-

where things are ending and the future’s never been more near-

you count down to it in a way

that you don’t in the other 364 days,

it’s a touch point, a base to make your pledges

to yourself, maybe others-

all tessellates tonight and edges overlap one another

to a heady soundtrack of partypoppers doubts, unknowns

‘Should haves’, ‘Would haves’, ‘Could haves’, ‘Dids’ and ‘Didn’ts…

but I will’ fill the space in your head

dancing with your hopes and your dreads

‘til you’re not sure who’s leading and who’s being led.

Making a pact with anything isn’t easy

for anyone, God forbid letting people know

and I’ll admit that the thought

of committing makes me queasy- so resolutions

tend to evade me, or maybe vice versa- but maybe

2016’s the year to reverse the trend, and hold out

a hand to shake with promise- to plunge to

resolution’s origin, Latin resolvere

meaning to loosen, release-

in other words, letting something open,

piece by reluctant piece.

It’s a fact my grip’s tight in many ways-

the words that I write being just one,

I hold them too close, out of the light

I turn them away from people’s gaze and

carry on like they never happened

because avoiding the difficult comes naturally

to everyone but actually when all is hidden and done

what’s really changed?

Free words can alter the world,

there is range and reach,

potential and value in each and every one that is uttered,

whether written, muttered, whispered, or shouted

and that’s the thing about it- about writing-

all of it is worth a listening ear,

a scanning eye- the freedom to be released and

roam far and wide regardless of the hand or mind

that formed it. I guess what it is that I’m trying to say

is that I stand by the fact that words should be said and read

then buckle and close my own notebook instead

of entering mine into the mix

a hypocritical tendency I’m hoping 2016 and I will try to fix.

It’s a fact my grip’s tight in many ways-

the words that I write being just one,

I hold them too close, out of the light

I turn them away from people’s gaze and

carry on like they never happened

because avoiding the difficult comes naturally

to everyone but actually when all is hidden and done

what’s really changed?

I have,

maybe.