Womb sea Tomb sea

<Audio>

From the womb of the sea,

when the waters break,

deliver me safely to the shore,

and I will suckle the cradling sun.

When a silver lining splits the shine,

on the ebb and flow of tears and joy,

the happiness bell is calling, calling:

It's a buoy. It's a buoy. It's a buoy. 

And safe upon that bank of sand,

draw down the busy world,

writ with stick-lines insistent,

sacrificing time to the erasing tide.

Gaze upon the soft horizon, constant

through the ages of child to man,

and of man back to child again,

in calm and storm and calm.

Then long upon a moon tomb sea,

in a rip upon an ebb tide's race,

weigh the anchor of my soul, and

I will sink in the west with the sun.

Berth

From the womb of the sea,
when the waters break,
deliver me safely to the shore,
and I will suckle the cradling sun.

Midlife meiosis

<Audio>

I am the fulcrum of a seesaw.

See, on the up side, scions ride.

Saw upon the down side,

there my ancestors bide.

Reminded of the tombstones,

that topple in the ebbing tide,

to shorten the downside lever,

and propel my scions rise, and rise.

As my fulcrum slips towards twilight,

the scions shriek delight,

for down they ride, bump bump down,

as their ancestors drop aside.

Then as the penultimate fulcrum,

slips abject from the pole,

so my fulcrum slips into the night,

as he takes on this pivotal role.

Instead of a fulcrum, it seems to me,

I am now a spindle in a wheel,

for spinning all around me,

are my scions gazing in,

as I peel off into the void.

  Slows down, and slows down,

becomes their seesaw again, 

as another fulcrum strong,

smiles upon its life of strain.

Caterpillar-like this seesaw track,

is making, breaking, unchanging length,

the spring of life on the one side,

as dotages drops off from the ride.

Oh what joy to have been a fulcrum,

to have balanced my time of life.

But, actually, it's a binary pivot,

designed for a husband and his wife.

Hi Sea

<Audio>

Where's the sea?

Inside of me.

Wear the sea

upon me.

Whatever the sea,

it weathers me,

and breaks in wave

over my grave.

Love forever sea.

hospital gate syndrome

<Audio>

read my genome

do a CT scan

positron emission 

stress ECG

or an EEG

myography 

ultrasound

X-Ray chest

body scan

do every blood(y) test 

known to man

test my breathing

dab my stools

dip my pee

sample my drools

exhale

inhale

hold it

spit

strength

eyesight 

  oh I see

hearing

  what WHAT

is hammering 

stammering 

reflexivity 

conductivity

weigh me

mark my height 

BMI

photograph my gait

then MRI

open and close

a stitch in time

inject some dye

I'm turning morose

and don't give a dime

for my prognose

so

blood transfuse

don't refuse

a transplant or two

before you

anaesthetise me

for an ECT

or better still

some CBT

I seem to be

a b_bit shaky

tell me now

would you prefer

an endoscope up 

or 

an endoscope down

anal retentive 

then

let's really go to town

cough twice

bronchoscopy

auscultation 

cardiac surgery

a stent for lent

or a cardiac bypass

on the road to ruin 

of my family tree

genetic counselling 

xxx my arse

you'll never know me

cos you see

they're coming to take me away 

ha ha - ha ha

hee hee - hee hee

but you've lots of data

to remember me

when finally

I can

R I P

DNR

Asystole

Check out my Early August Diary on SNN

http://swanseanewsnetwork.org/nature-diary/early-august-diary-fruit-heaven/

The swimmer in winter

<Audio>

Lanyard, seaward, tethered to tide,

the swimmer standing tall.

Owns the slanting day down beach,

and the high sea's sky. That's all.

That's all there is. No secret,

in the knots running spate,

that ebb and flow, instilled

of whether to or not. The fate

of a swimmer in winter facing down

the wind that hiss-spits in his face.

Armfuls of horizon, cutlass grey,

snow gulls tumbling down in grace.

The ocean vehement,

shouldered in towering,

banshee in screams, wild

in glaring, growling, glowering,

a predatory wolf in a skein of sky.

Unfaltering waves, icy in solemnity confirm,

when ensnared in snarls, and gritted by both sides,

they steadfastly refuse to squirm,

or slip their lanyard, tethering tides.