Should I lament

Oh should i lament
    when lived to play outdoors
breathed content
    apron-strings fell off
should i now with pen poised
    deny what happened
may duly and let unruly
    fast as young legs can carry me
backwards and fall
    helplessly laughing
into glassworks' field
    among wild headhigh grass
thronged with huge michaelmas daisies
    turn beckon to my best pal
    “gie us a hand up!”
wander together along familiar ditch
    source of frogs and merriment
dare each other
    leaping across bank to
slip     and darn! one shoe wet
    leave sock on rock to dry

days of youth yes animated with fun
    and excruciatingly bygone
dwelling in some folds of aged brain
    these still-eternal years
and i gathering wrinkles
    instead of child's play
unbegrudged and yes as if erased
    with catch in laugh no-one can hear


december's dying year mmxii

First and last companion

chest swells
    lungs expand
receiving deep draught of air
    which heart pumps
infusing blood with oxygen
    nexus of felt rhythyms
inhale    exhale
    breathing reconciles body to self
how comforting this closeness
    snug within
servicing vital need
    ah tis grand
throb and pulsation
    restorative
putting pain aside
    where it belongs
suffering to be alive
    one life and one destiny
    ah me    ah me
tis thou and i
    dearest inspiration
together twain
    both faithful
one indrawn breath
    let out
first and last companion


nov mmxii

Salve yersen

... sez tich

Whan yr flindered
    hits rite whar y are
spring o feelin
    gits t flowin clear
an bubblin up
    az if suckin air
passions demand    oh aye
    mid joy an grief
weds pathos to ethos
    ownin i am i afore itz me
birthrite inherent
    each bairn t cherish
'n betimes larnin wurld wurkz utterwise
so tis yourn t let free
    outta lap o void
as case we iz tolt
    wid forebears o yore
frum well-bein were ticed
    (course no witness were thar)
now tiz you az you are
    eyes a-streamin
or raisin y voice    hahaha
    don matter
yer iz whar y shud be
    widdin reach o yippee
oh yeah


july mmxii
tich backhouse, hiz poemz

Happens

Happens
y' knowz that don' y'
nut ever'body
just becuz do
mos'ly those wid innardz
wot feels
wot feels th' goinz on
orl over
orl over selfsame
same az t'other
cherish t'other
happenz 'tween
snuck atween
cuddly th'githerness
aint orl
aint orl at all
stuck th'gither
meanz i iz you
an' you iz me
how treated
each other how self-respecktin
seez it     wot i sez
two bodiez con-cum-mitted
large word for wotz meanin
four letterz or thereabouts
so i sez    sotiz wid us
you 'n me
happens
happens mos' surely
  an' dearlyodearly
wid both on us
wid    you 'n' me


jan mmxi

From where we come

From where we come
    to where we go
blithe or careworn
    all same fare
from here to there

to cry bloody tears
    as if breathing's sin
to hang heads low
    to weep deep within
has house caved in

to where we go
    from where we come
home between homes
    destiny's children
shuttled to and fro

is elsewhere home
    or this our abode
nowhere's children
    blown far abroad
on wind's highroad

thus we shall travel
    thrall to who's will
elements kindred
    as if to redress
our inimical role

we abide with wonders
    no deals from fate
no questions    no answers
    is earth purloining
death's estate


aug mmvii

There's a downside

There's a downside to everything
    not necessarily bad
our way of watching the clock
    ticking off the seasons
the years like a handy roll of film in a camera
    pictured spooling off or on
click click looksee looksee
    that's how the present gets shaped
first closeup then distant
    as we look over our shoulder
turning the yet-to-be into the once-was
    forgetting what comes next is now

    distinctions like Spring -Summer
are threaded by our feelings, our wishes thoughts
    into daisy-chains to play with in fancy
this Spring that is now waxing into Summer
    foretells a waning of the sunlit hours
turning Summer on its head
    and with the downside we expect
travel fun holidays delights at the table meetings
    but life is all one picture
unembraceable as that one picture
    and the glimpses we get
startle us into recognizing
    all seasons have their fling


july mmxii

They touched beaks

They touched beaks
those cheeky chatty dee-dees
black mustachioed beggars
the two of them
affectionately on parting
and i
touched    had to laugh
eskimos rubbing noses
intimation of sensibility
their legacy and ours
shared among folk of air land sea
as surely as
general booth's welcome into heaven
(i'd join the uproar
had i been there)
witness to fellow-feeling
embraces don't need sophistication
simplicity comes through
seen eye to eye
to caress
is blest


july 30 mmxii

When I breathe no more

When I breathe no more
good salty air of sea
or fresh breeze of stormcoming
lord of death's accounting tablet
let my name stink of earth
and tincture of flowers
with rain soaking this precious mantle
her covering and girdle    my mother
for to her breast again i would return


july mmxii

Drink ter me lonely

Tich Backhouse; hiz say-so

hoo hoo    hey thar lass
thoo looks rite toward n pleasin dis morn
i ha taken t thoo
mos liken goddess hebe
eben her o comely ankles
hoo dwelleth on cloud nine

sniff . . . watz up wit nose in air
most like common sort that carries on endless
nag nag nag    bellyful o scorn
an grey hanks o hair t boot

sure tis allure o witchery den
cud ha sworn that swich grace n glamoor
o goodly thoo    walks nut touchin groun
neck poised like jug on haid balancin
pearlz shamed be teeth fer brilliance
an cheekz abloom fresh peach fuzz
shakin f queenly haid    eyen two lites o dawn sky peepin
glory bee    i ha glimpsed nun be match o thine . . .

but stay    tis contumely do i spy
angelic countenance shrewish wid distaste
az if swallered loathsome bolus stead o hambrosia
an dis rude finger accusin    go ter ..ll

ize off mistook likely lass fer cupidz owen
fer sartin lucky iz tich    thoo'd bin parfait scold
allus beyon reach    marbelous statue    hi-n-matey
yus ize gonzo    no sonnets writ in bucolic tongue
me nose buried in froth o suds seekin dioneesus bottom
no posterity fer yrs unruly cept owen cheery sel
findin comfort in arms o blacksmit good ale
herez t u folks    stay singular marrit t quiet life

Tich Backhouse, Nov. mmxii