A Mocking Bird Reflects
( for Keisha)
Named and spoken about, we did not
hold resentment dearly
to our wounded hearts, we undid the
makeshift sutures holding
our minds and bodies together. We
set about healing pain
beneath our spoilt, tattered tourniquets
and listened when Life called,
speaking to us beneath our mind-wars,
telling us, to live it.
We allowed wonderment to shine, through
our days and nights, freely
in flower petal blessings and smell
of soil, in solid earth
our enchanted noses smelt heaven's
choir, in floral garments
proceeding to tickle tiny nose hairs
earnestly living in
attendance to verve, as Life sees fit
in experience.
Our hearts remembered to remember,
to play freely in joy
and moxie presented us well with tears
sometimes in dark, chaotic seas,
opportunities and rituals of age
arose in painful times,
mocking us as we stood on the shore
of our wavering faith
in spirit, being a breathing cadence,
a changing tonal mood.
The symphonic poem changes hues,
and I’m older than you
are right now, and although this is so,
we both move from minor
keys that haunt us with lonely mocking,
and they become a song
we sing in the light, of amazement
that we did not forget
the importance of our childhood fairies
and major key changes.
‘Years ago I was told, years ago I remember, years ago I remember being told’.
years ago warriors stood here watching the sea.
children of the mist swam in mythical stories
recited from lips, telling what was told
in rhythm meter and timed
rhyme spoken word
mimicked and mimed
often in a child’s day
every community has its told and retold.
now stories are narrated by
telephone or over coffee in a café by
people talking, talking people
time has not taken
The Spoken about
from tongues, of the village
The Spoken pass
by daily on streets walking.
every town has its spoken
stories, and The Spoken still take
their tracks sometimes
we imagine and wonder
at their lives and would perhaps
notice if they left
