Inter generational trauma

The Mother said, it is true that

I am better in the evening,

the morning energy was virulent,

harnessed to limbic structures,

A ferrel appendage to an otherwise perfect facade.

So, when the time comes make sure

you create something solid,

which will sit there at the table with you in the evening,

as a truth known to itself.

Not as a vessel to be teased with life

Drip drip dripping uncertainty in increments ,

A gradually rising tide.

Instead see from the start

A childs mistakes are empty ,

we are inherently good.

Or risk creation of a visceral vacant lot

whose body holds a catalogue of despair-

So when the ball is thrown at them,

they absorb the form as it

bounces in side, scattering thoughts,

vibrating here and what came before.

Past and present clattering together

reminding them only of now

and what they are in this moment

There in the past.


A Bus Ride 

I slip up the stairs and 

cosy into the corner of the seat  

right at the front of the, 

number 4 to Archway. 

A private smile embraces 

the face of my front of bus comrade. 

I revel in my achievement 

without the children. 

Islington High Street now switching to  

electric to prepare  

proper hamburgers in a building 

with genuine wear and tear 

A building with birth marks, 

inscriptions of truth like a face in its ninetieth year, 

it holds a memory 

like the steps of the town hall    

(To archway) 

Highbury Corner and buildings rise ,like stalactites, 

reflecting back on themselves and each other  

so this one is that one  

and that one is over there 

A man with sideburns that frame  

his jawline is chewing frantically, 

in his wait for the bus, 

(To Archway) 

Back within, a bassline of “yes big brother” 

in rhythm with the urgency 

Of the foreign lyric from the backseat 

The chorus to another world 

in harmony with butterflies released  

from the man who drums his entire journey 

into his legs so the energy loops from within 

Out and in, out and in. 

Looking out ,so many houses fill the space, 

Saintly schools on a precipice, 

Expressions of a journey, 

4 to Archway.