Gloves are on

I’ve joined the ranks of the croupiers

or so it seems to friends.

Others think I’m a magician

with my white-clad, sleight of hands.

Any magic in my fingers

is neither white nor black

but blood-red ooze

from thin-skinned, cracking

chemo-battered digits.

A spell of gloom and grime

on tough cotton armour

wards off cut and thrust

coming even from paper.

UNDER THE ANAESTHETIC

I stand in front of a mirror, naked.

It’s old, even older than me.

The silver back is crackled, misted,

but still brutally honest in its message.

Outside the window, the tree leans into the mirror,

bare limbs on display for all to see,

the angry cankers bold upon its bark.

Look! it shouts. You could have cured me.

Again, I run a finger down my ribs,

my nail rising and falling over each

bony ridge in a slow slalom of despair.

I dig deeper, insinuate my hand between

the bones, burrow through the warm damp

to caress my own gall, my oak apple,

round and smooth as a pebble.

Then, with one talon, I excise the interloper

Navigating the maze

After Max Ehrmann’s ‘Desiderata’.

Walk placidly amid Life’s noisy squalls.

Remember, silent thought serves as a balm.

Without surrender, seek good terms with all.

Speak your personal truth with soothing calm.

Keep humble focus on your own career

whether high or low, it’s your possession.

Love is the way to keep your life in gear

true love-knots never tie with feigned affection.

Don’t doubt what you can touch, or hear, or see

nor let fear grow when you’re alone or blue.

Like trees and stars, you have the right to be.

Keep your personal view of Life or God with you.

Our world hurls nightmares while its beauty gleams.

Choose wisely and embrace your happy dreams.

LAST RIGHTS

I don’t want a funeral. Please.

Let me spare you the long wind through

the gravestones, the wilting flowers,

the awkward wait at the crematorium,

dreading the sight of my hearse.

You do not need to hear platitudes spoken

by someone who has never met me.

Let me spare you the urge to leap up

and rip down the encroaching curtains,

to halt the slow grind of wheels

that steal my coffin away.

Let me give you the warmth of familiar rooms

where decades of love are squirrelled away.

Let me release you from the constraints

of stiff-upper-lippery in a public place.

Let me cosset you with family and friends.

Stay home. Revisit the furnishings,

remember when and why we bought them,

take in my books, my paintings, my smell.

Howl if you want.

Then hug children and friends, share memories,

eat cake, lots of cake, play music, and laugh.

Laugh and laugh.