A Reason To Live

The news caved in above me,
when it entered through your ear.
My heart skipped its first beat,
while yours I couldn’t hear,
Although it hurts listen to me
and I’ll teach you not to fear.
For He may have gone to sleep now
but I’ll be waking up this year.

So kiss my brother on the forehead.
Tie his boots to his feet.
Take his hand and hold it tightly,
while you walk us ‘cross the street
and over to the graveyard,
crawling through the storm
to make a pact with the angels
that have come along to mourn.

That says you’ll cherish these moments,
for love’s the only thing,
That will keep us now from screaming
and later teach us how to sing.
We will all be with you,
to guide the tears off your cheeks,
when another day reminds you
of the previous weeks.

So I’ll be the ticket in your pocket,
’till you find a place to be.
Take your troubles along with you
and scatter them in the sea.
Though memories will scar you
while His shadow still remains,
the tear stains on your cheeks
will wash away again.

You can share my heartbeat,
if you’ll teach me how to speak.
I promise I’ll be good, Mum
and help you find your feet.
Tell my brother “He’s in heaven.
‘Cause they need him in the clouds
to keep the sky from collapsing
And the sun from falling down.”

So when we return to snowy streets,
In the winter up ahead.
There we will be lying,
in the hospital bed.
And as the years fall down behind us,
you can watch me grow.
I’ll tread in the footprints
He left in the snow.


A Green and Red Christmas

Red faces drooling over the table,

and nearby, basting, shoulders hanging loose,

the turkey time displaces, unable

to save itself, and my neck is a noose.

My morals cling to umbilical cords,

unstable. Bells ring that I should stick to

green veg playing chicken on chopping boards,

fumbling round fat and wild slaughterhouse goo.

It’s Christmas, and mouths stuffed silently bleed

thick gravy over worn out serving spoons,

make spaces for empty wastes that they need

to later dance, dolled up in poultry wounds,

and vulture the corpse they’ve misunderstood

– the anxious artifice sweats soya blood.