losing my grip

Welcome

2009-07-03T19:09:00.012+01:00

"Losing My Grip" is a companion volume of poems to my earlier collection "Finding My Feet". I have a further collection forming, which I was planning to publish here as "Watching My Weight", but I've begun sending poems off to magazines and it turns out that they don't appreciate prior publication, even on a personal blog. So it looks like this is it for now.

Looking at the web statistics, my most popular poems here are:

"do you remember?"
"hot"
"best before"
"fudge cake"
"dig"
"callous"

I'd be interested in your comments.

The poems are all here on the right, if you'd care to take a look....

All poems listed here remain copyright of Greg White.

aphelion

2009-07-03T18:59:00.002+01:00

aphelion

I want a science with which to mark the day

Of our closest approach, when heat and speed,

A fiery horizon-wide embrace

Made liquid the poles of my identity.

Now the memory of warmth is a star in my constant night.

Once torrid climes are grey, homogenous, still.

What grew is stunted, frozen, ice.

I pray for a day of sublime extremity

For the swooning ellipse of return.

October 1994

play

2009-07-03T18:55:00.001+01:00

play

Without you, not knowing the shape of my heart,

Not seeing this shape in another.

The child's game of placing this shape in that hole.

December 1994

sunflower

2009-07-03T18:49:00.007+01:00

sunflower

Before seeing you, our second day,

I looked for a sunflower. In February.

Snow on the ground. The Market cold.

Love demanded a sunflower.

As in a tale, the last stall had one

And I carried it tall, like a promise, to your work.

Together we marvelled at the miracle

Of our meeting and my perfect choice

Too big for your vase

The stem somehow too tough to cut,

We bent and jammed it into water,

Left it for your staff to sort.

Of course it was fake, the flower.

We two were fooled and briefly believed

It real, much as we wished

For a while that we were real.

July 1996

false

2009-07-03T18:35:00.011+01:00

false

The moon is bright over the park, yet I keep

To the path beneath the trees that line the stream.

The water, seemingly serene,

Falls apart on the weir.

I picture your shredded letter rearranged in the cascade

Forming new well-intentioned lies.

June 1996

the end of the affair

2009-07-03T18:34:00.001+01:00

He cuts me

And I spend my days

Interpreting the wound.

I think I see it all now.

Part of me.

He is disaffected

And I regret the perspective

His distance permits.

How little and brittle he is.

Rigid with a fissure to his soul.

How lonely,

Insignificant. How droll!

May 1995

a sadness so deep no tears will come

2009-07-03T18:32:00.003+01:00

a sadness so deep no tears will come

There are no words can pillow my head.

I haven't breath to utter the desiccated

Nothings that clutter up days.

Our life is paper. I lie in a crease.

My world has folded like a map.

Above me a black-framed slot of empty sky.

And dry:

All there is is a meal I cannot eat,

For which I haven't the appetite.

I take myself to a booth and try

To reach you, to claw at earth walls

But telephone calls clod apart in my hands.

May 1995

restraint

2009-07-03T18:30:00.021+01:00

restraint

For weeks a manacle no blacksmith could shatter,

The scab a tightening ratchet on my wrist.

Shameful shackle, sign of my suffering, my crime,

A persistent throbbing reminder I exist.

September 2001

curtains

2009-07-03T18:30:00.008+01:00

curtains

The new window was too wide for my old wooden blind

And so I drew the curtains that had always hung

Red and redundant on either side.

I slept untroubled by my neighbours' wars

With foam plugs in my ears and so I missed

The signals of a coming storm.

And woke to a red flash, bright, silent, sustained.

Suddenly time slowed strange, as in an impact.

I felt the fear of a far decade

Rush back, undimmed. That certain dread

Of childhood here again. I considered

The seconds I had left, with no shelter in this bed.

I awaited the blast, feeling the grim foolishness,

The irony, of my newly doubly insulated room

That now it should be twice the glass would splinter my flesh.

September 2002

library

2009-07-03T18:25:00.001+01:00

library

Again I find I've lost my place.

I'm reading this chapter over.

Is this satire or a romance?

Who the hero? Who the author?

I don't recall a title page

Or why I began such dreary dogma.

I look up to see readers, all at a pace

Passing composed from cover to cover.

January 2003

rapunzel

2009-07-03T18:20:00.005+01:00

rapunzel

The old baggage has only to climb

Once down my tresses and then I'm

Out of this tower, platted to the bedpost

And letting myself down in ringlets.

I've no scissors to hand but my candle

Will serve to sever my un-bunched braids

Pah! Now who needs a Prince these days!

January 2004

sorrow opens like a flower

2009-07-03T18:15:00.004+01:00

sorrow opens like a flower

Sorrow opens like a flower.

Each petal a grief unfurls.

Vigorous persistent weed!

The hothouse bloom of happiness is what I aim to grow

But the seed I was sold is woe.

September 2004

solitaire

2009-07-03T18:10:00.008+01:00

solitaire

I'm aware that things have gone too far:

My cards are laid out deep

My options sparse.

Soon the pack will return

The same unwanted futures.

May 2006

rocket

2009-07-03T18:10:00.007+01:00

rocket

No-one missed me in the event.

I sketched an arc faintly

Fitfully off-course.

There was no fulfilling bloom, no sound.

Wordless, I fell to the sodden ground

Full of potential still, no use.

September 2004

aurora

2009-07-03T18:05:00.005+01:00

aurora

Freshly poached from the steaming lagoon
We stood in a lava field, seeking aurora.

You, sure you saw it, that weak seminal stream

Unfurling across the sky; I thought it likely a cloud

But didn't care, grateful it had aroused

Your increasingly rare, fitful interest.

You said, "I reckon it's always like this,

Those postcards are faked. Come on, I'm starting to freeze."

I said nothing, keeping faith that the Lights,

Like Love, could be spectacular

And that I would know both majesties.

December 2007

do you remember?

2009-07-03T17:55:00.040+01:00

do you remember?

Night had fallen by the time we turned home
Across the golf course, ominous, unknown
Under snow.

Our path was unclear and the drifting

Made a nonsense of our memory

Of the way.

I held your hand and sensed your fear,

Too young to understand

Responsibility.

We walked on gingerly,

over fairway and rough,

feeling

our

way

with

our

feet.

We crested a rise

and the lights of home

tantalised, blinding us briefly.

With new bearings, we set off,

But instantly you were gone.

I stood alone, in shock.

A mother-shaped hole in the snow to my left,

Like in a "Tom & Jerry" cartoon,

Its arms outstretched.

Indignant below, you called for my help

To climb free from out of the bunker,

But I was feeble with laughter.

These days everywhere for you is swathed

In blank forgetfulness. We wander again

Across a landscape made strange.

You hold my hand. I hold my breath,

Hoping you don't sense my fear.

Feeling responsible.

Feeling the mother-shaped hole at my side.

March 2010

innocent

2009-07-03T17:50:00.013+01:00

innocent

Mr. Sanderson has asked that I read my essay to the class

And I’ve got to the part where Prospero abjures his art,

Decommissions his book of spells, his magic staff,

When…everybody laughs.

I avoid repeating words in my work, as a rule,

And since I’ve used “staff” in the line above,

I read out, “He buries his powerful tool deep in the earth”.

For minutes the room is lost to tempestuous mirth.

Years later, reciting To His Coy Mistress,

To impress metaphysical John, to my left,

I am so intent on hitting the pace,

I forget the word “skin”

And say, “the youthful ‘Hugh’ sits on thy face”.

Once again I’m in disgrace.

March 2010

mask

2009-07-03T17:45:00.026+01:00

mask

That mask you have constructed stuns my senses

I can conceive no wittier more artful carapace

Than the banter you’ve added like lacquer over years

The dazzling hard brilliance of your public face

Frozen in mockery, impervious, cruel,

Ruthless, unreachable, harsh as a rule.

Tell me, is it lonely in there?

My skin is raw, unpainted. I have no art

To dissemble, no prefabricated wit.

My face bleeds blushes. I wear my wounds undressed.

Words tumble from me. Most I regret.

I wish I could see your eyes. I suspect

We have much to share.

And I will tell you it is lonely for me here.

February 2010

threshold

2009-07-03T17:40:00.013+01:00

threshold

I stand in the doorway to a dark room,
Waiting for my eyes to adjust,
Discerning no more than the closest furniture.

Many have passed me
Venturing on undaunted
While I congratulate myself for noticing my hands.

November 2008

fall

2009-07-03T17:35:00.007+01:00

fall

I awake to find a stranger in my yard.

The maple is naked, stooped in frame,

Bent over tumbled leaves spread below,

Like jumbled paperwork on her table.

At a stroke, she has lost all vanity,

Stands bedraggled, gaunt and vague,

Oblivious to my pity,

Unable to account for yesterday.

March 2010

untitled

2009-07-03T17:30:00.012+01:00

From the corner of my eye I see a ball of tangled words.

A poem lurks by the door, waiting to be worked. Raw

It wants to be carded and teased, spun to a yarn,

Stretched on my page in warp and weft,
I'll deftly weave it, cleave it to pattern and sew.

I shall wear it for best, my favourite coat
For a season, a flattering fit for my frame.

Patched and mended, it will stay in my wardrobe
'til metaphors fray, words hang from it in tatters,

Until syllables sprout from the seams.

March 2010

callous

2009-07-03T17:25:00.033+01:00

callous

Other people's poems are like their feet:

Best kept discreetly out of view. They reek

Of sweaty nights in unwashed socks from laundry bins,

Are corny, or warty, or heeled with hard skin.

There's seldom one that couldn't do with some sort of trim.

Stop baring your soles! Your poems, like your toes,

Are obscene and cheesy, they're even bad prose.

Your shoes are so tight all your thoughts are ingrown,

Your verse like verrucas, I’ll bet Dr Scholl

Says your ballads are blistered beyond his control.

Keep your flat-footed free verse far from my hearing.

Malodorous odes are seldom endearing.

April 2010

mad

2009-07-03T17:20:00.073+01:00

mad

It's called "Lea House" now
But, back in the day
When I used to go
It was "Unit 4a
Whack House Lane",
Not the most propitious address
For psychiatric services.

When I questioned their choice,
My Counsellor confessed
That someone had voiced
A charming suggestion
To name the place after
Its predecessor on site.
"What was that?" I asked her.
"Batty Mill", she sighed...

April 2010

dig

2009-07-03T17:15:00.006+01:00

dig

Drawer by drawer I dismember my Father,
Dead a week now, my task to decipher
The ways of his lost kingdom.

At first I am frightened. It feels
A desecration to disturb his papers, disperse
The relics, the fetishes of his office,

Sift through strata of stationery, discarding
Prodigally what are essentially
The remains of the man.

I find decades of notepads sandbagged prudently
Against some future noteworthy day,
Airline wash-kits from BOAC, PAN AM, TWA,

Immaculate, archaic now, never used,
The Study still suffused with his scent,
The man buried himself in his work.

Each folder I open is a canopic jar.
Any time soon I may find his heart
Beating in a box-file.

But there is nothing, no discovery,
No clue to the man. All is dross.
His desk is no sarcophagus.

He is as present now as he ever was,
Absent save for this sanctum crammed
With company tat, shored against want.

April 2010

calling

2009-07-03T17:05:00.005+01:00

I turn into a side street to park,
Walk back and cross the road to look again
At what I can't believe I saw. But there
- a holy mystery -
Above the warehouse, the poster is torn
So that it reads

April 2010

showbar

2009-07-03T17:00:00.009+01:00

   A slow night, the bar is bereft
   Of all but the dregs and disconsolates.
   The drag queen serving drinks has left
   Off his wig and the big screen on the wall
   Is showing neither pop nor porn
   But instead some grisly slasher flick.
   To the sound of screams, of ligaments torn,
   Of splintered bone, you two begin
   To talk of breaking up.

   April 2010

passing time

2009-07-03T16:55:00.008+01:00

These days, when in home ware shops,
I always head for the mirrors and clocks.
I don't know why, when all they show
Are things I do not want to know.

May 2010

best before

2009-07-03T16:50:00.006+01:00

best before

The yoghurt pot is four months past its date,

Her fridge a necropolis for foods
Forgotten, pushed to the back, replaced.
She wants a snack and thinks that this will do.

I tell her she should always check the label
This pot’s “Best Before” was back In April.
It’s August now. She hesitates and frowns.
“So? Then I can eat it”. She reaches out

And I see at last she’s lost her grip on time
And, with a shock, I understand that I’m
The one who’s failed to read the signs, who’s left
Something far too long until it spoiled.

May 2010

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fudge cake

2009-07-03T15:55:00.011+01:00

fudge cake

When you're found face down in a fudge cake, feeding,

Because you're forkless and just couldn't wait
You know you have a problem.

There's a hole in your life that you need to fill:
A friend, a lover, a soul mate who will
Be there for you, care for you, listen and talk,
But crucially,

crucially,

bring you a fork.

May 2010

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hot

2009-07-03T15:50:00.008+01:00

hot

So hot in bed, I hold you from behind,

Your bare flesh slick with sweat. I kiss your neck

And in my mind I say an ardent prayer:

"Let me take this fever for you, spare you."

Sick. In my devotion I'm blind to how

You would not do the same in turn,

How, to this love with which for years I've burned,

You are, alas, immune.

September 2010

procedure

2009-07-03T15:45:00.004+01:00

procedure

Keep the crowd at bay, please.

Here has been a crime.

Statements have been taken.

Observe the chalk line

Around my heart.

Nothing to see here.

The action's over now.

Here comes the team

To swab the scene

For grief, self-pity, doubt.

Move along now,

As indeed we all must try.

Show some respect

For a life that's wrecked.

For the Love that died tonight.

April 2010

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midwinter

2009-07-03T15:35:00.020+01:00

midwinter

overnight the world has emptied.
here in bed, in my mind, I can tell.
I can hear the nothing muffling
my window, feel a soft foreboding
opening my blind to see
a world transformed by no

no lies deep on the soundless street,
lapping the kerb, the corner, the wall,
mapping the contours of car and plant
of fence and garden ornament,
all equally claimed, meekly in thrall
to unceasing falling no

and though indoors, here I am now
a no man frozen once more:
unable for a time to feel,
to think, to move, to sleep until
some internal season changes
and again I begin to thaw

December 2010