Poem For Ma Who Liked Poetry
Ma,
Leaping off the crown of a candle,
A hot bead without hold or handle,
Blobbed as us all on the bee-smell body of a star.
Air,
Shushing from the womb of her shell room,
The leant lung's slow snore looping her loom,
Muddled with the booze which bruised her peaceful as a pear.
Hands,
Holding normal knowings in knot-roots,
Splaying through the spokes of new cahoots,
All gusts must rust and turn to dust ~ as Felixstowe pebbles will wave to wax; fast towed, fed lights, we the festooned elixir of ocean-spanned sands.
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