New Year's Resolution [poem]

New Year's Resolution

your brother was there

but you were nowhere

to be seen

the hour of nine

your usual arrival time

long anticipated

came and went

my heart sank

yet my hopes

were soaring high

quarter past

half past

and still no sign

I didn't see you enter

I just looked up later

and you were there

in the flesh

though pale and gaunt

eyes rimmed

as if with violet eye-shadow

the deep bruising

of sleep deprivation

or alcohol abuse

sitting on a stool

at the edge of the circle

of friends

more like acquaintances

they made no attempt to

draw you into

their conversation

their laughter

I noticed you smiled wanly

laughed once or twice

half-heartedly

lost and alone

like so many urbanites

in crowded places

I wanted to come over

and give you a hug

tell you that you're loved

but ever conscious of your

fragile machismo

the barrier to my

soothing your ego

I remained at a distance

one of these days

I will make you happy

or at least I would try

if you'd let me

*

I have made no resolutions for 2017: my declining cognitive abilities combined with physical atrophying militates against expectations of much more than attempting to survive with a smile upon my visage.

My annual tradition, however, is that the first blog-post of each year is a poem. I could see no reason not to continue with same. I considered posting a poem about partying. However, given the past year, I considered that something a tad more subdued to be appropriate.

Wishing all my readers, occasional or returning, the very best in all your endeavours in the year ahead; happy New Year one & all!

postcards (from Málaga)

[Image description: the Mediterranean from Málaga]

*

postcards (from Málaga)


wish you were here:
          on the Paseo del Parque
          sitting on this bench
          colour bleached
          olive, satin green, bare wood
          sun-drenched;
          watching the red and black ladybird
          crawl up the leg of my jeans;
          pigeons herding by
          on the white marble plain
          dappled with guano
          stained by age
          and accidents' cracks;
your hand on my thigh.

wish you were here:
          an unblemished azure sky;
          the salt-air of a calm sea
          cerulean and aquamarine
          bejewelled with gems
          of coruscating sun
          the chanting wavelets
          lap the honeyed sand gently;
          mid-distance fishermen
          trawl for their morning catch;
          while hirsute joggers limp past -
          here, they do not run -
          ectomorphic flesh
          posturing machismo
          mesomorphs are prized so dear;
          palm trees rasp against the breeze
          shivering in the unwelcome chill;
you come to mind, and
I horripilate to the thrill.

wish you were here:
          in the Alcazabar ruins
          fragments of Roman lore
          Moorish exotica restored;
          setting for nuptial reminiscences;
          literally breath-taking panoramas
          of this Legoland city
          from towers and look-out points,
          and timeless vistas
          quite unexpectedly
          tell of half-remembered historias;
          lunching on a marble tombstone
          unpeeling my oranges
          as those spectres once did
          savouring the thirst-quenching liquid
          trickling down my throat
          my fingers all sticky
          from this self-indulgent fest;
          in the future I believe Hope, lest…
but you are there, my very own.

wish you were here:
          on the mountainside
          in the fir and rowan woodland;
          the fresh scent of pine
          absorbing my nostrils
          in olfactory delight;
          the harsh glare of the sun
          defused and blurred and softened;
          calming tones
          of clover, sage and unripe lemons
          an intoxicating verdure;
          marred by the detritus
          of trysts and assignations
          of the echo of al fresco coitus
          and juvenile masturbations;
and I want you, need you now
of that I am so sure.

wish you were here:
          at the El Telón bar;
          the wondrous aroma of coffee
          its unique woodiness
          its heady spiciness;
          perhaps the only
          proof of God's existence;
          every time I pass a café
          experiencing a spiritual epiphany;
          and my prayers
          turn to
          are for
You
          x