Author: Paul

If Men Were Gods

If the 200-yard walk while drinking tea was a sport
you would have been a world champion
I’ve never known a man since
who could time his brew from doorstep to doorstep
without spilling a drop
without breaking their mug
even better was your ability to puff a smoke
and stop for craic with folk you liked
between our streets

your soundtrack was eclectic
Elton to Abba
Hot Chocolate to Jimmy Nail
which I want to thank you for
because it rubbed off on me

I’ll always be envious of your moustache
because it made the smile on your face
all the more rich
but I don’t envy the shellsuits you liked
or some of the neon vests

Cantona once said
“I think I have a sense of mischief and that I can laugh at myself.”
he could’ve been quoting you
because your humour was only second
to your loyalty

You taught me so much
yet I’ve still got lots to learn
but I’ll do it with a glint in my eye
and a smile on my face
the way you would.

This poem is dedicated to my late, great Uncle Ray.

Ghost Walk

Goosewing clouds flocked the sky
smothering the molten yellow sun
day darkened to a relic.

The bothy stood
cowering on the hillside
a wraith uncertain of its existence.

A crooked smile of doorway
welcomed us into stale darkness
we extinguished it with lamplight.

Huddled, we read carvings
of the visitor journal
immortalised in stone and wood
some names we recognised
clung like phantoms starving breath.

At the call of spilling sunshine
we left the spectre’s embrace
fresh air, our sanctuary.

Lost & Found

Two Northern harvest-mice
with hawk-lit eyes
we slinked around London
from Kings Cross to Trafalgar
without hedgerow or hay to hide in
only plateaus and towers of grey

we had no map
so followed the route of bus stops
resting only a couple of times
trying not to inhale too much oil-slick air
smouldering under June’s sun

after the fifth wrong turn
tedium began to shriek
like car horns
but you smiled and said
“we’ll try around the next corner, you can’t get lost when you’re in love”

a composure in your voice
that buried the tumult
chaos collapsing
into
calm

we found ourselves on a busy London street.

Ascent

This time
the climb felt easier
the incline didn’t seem to stretch for a year
my legs keeping feeling without force.

This time
my dewy eyes were due to a biting wind
     rather than the noose of grief
that swallowed the air from my body
           and the right words from my lips
like the last time.

And this time our hands held gentler
and it wasn’t to do with the new gloves
we are stronger now.