I am a captive to your step,
lamentando on a theme
with tip-toe turns and silent twirls
to inventive time signatures.
I think a coda is required.
Or perhaps a lively stomp
dampening the demon heat,
white to blood red,
cooling to ash.
From A Bankrupt's Diary © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson
You came to me as an unexpected guest,
parachuting in from a hostile zone,
and as we sat away from the scream
the war’s din lessened to an abstract dream.
Peace enveloped us as we talked;
hung about our lips,
poured through your every syllable
straining to recall the vow
through melancholy verse, healing,
revealing the scar. Then you laughed.
And we were of one mind
in an instant,
for a moment understood
as long as it allowed.
From A Bankrupt's Diary © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson
We visit the theme time and again
and draw the same conclusion
where the porcelain cups used
to play out routine,
objects, at once familiar
grant redundant aid when
questions stab at problems
challenged then rebuked, never
to see the uncluttered space behind
those repurposed implements.
Hollow clattering drowns out
the bubbling stovetop coffee.
And I wait
for a safe distance when
no longer of use, I cannot comply.
And it is silent.
From A Bankrupt's Diary © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson
I wrap objects in newspaper
with deliberate care.
They whisper evocatively.
In the dark
they journey to another place,
another in-between space,
witnesses of a past to mourn.
A waiting game is being played.
They are winning the charade
and draw me in with sepia hues,
glanced through misted panes of glass
distorted to anthracite decay.
And while nomadic and free,
in mocking silence they look on
and laugh at me.
From A Bankrupt's Diary © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson
Do you remember when
skinny, pale and winter skinned
we jetted off to tropical sands,
the island of my father’s birth,
happy, clueless newlyweds?
You ask if I have any regrets.
I smile and turn to my own thoughts.
What a question.
I meet your eyes, blue lagoons,
glinting pools of steadfast warmth
and ask if you’d like a cup of tea.
‘Lovely’, you say
smiling back at me.
From A Bankrupt's Diary © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson
It sits on the desk and rings all day.
My stomach sinks while my
head prepares to be underwhelmed
as I give the rehearsed reply.
I decide to ignore 0844, 0845
and numbers of futile cause
while relations ring with equal gravity,
on and on, an unabated, fixed reminder
of what cannot be undone,
evoking Oscar Wilde.
(Only relatives, or creditors, ever ring in
that Wagnerian manner.)
A rude intruder demanding
the involuntary final act.
Then there is silence, yet
the perturbed shrill resonates
in every corner
of every room,
subdued coercing tones of doubt.
From A Bankrupt's Diary © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson
After transgressions are confessed,
dissolving act on paper,
escape
with the remnants of my remiss
in my pocket.
Here loose change
chinks amongst disintegrating tissues;
cold, unyielding, useless forms
along with my blackened name.
Yet, begin again.
At zero.
From A Bankrupt's Diary © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson
We kept the bailiff at arm’s length
on the doorstep,
outside the threshold.
So he turned his attention to our car.
We managed to appease him with fifty pounds,
enough to keep him at bay, I thought,
until late one afternoon, after dark,
I returned with my mother and children
to find a lorry and forklift outside.
Had he come for the car?
I parked the car up the road, out of sight,
and with my children and mother in tow,
crept around the side of the house.
Formidable Mother said, ‘He won’t get past me’,
and ushered us in while she stood in the doorway,
a red-headed Viking anchored in the breach.
We remained in the dark, peering out of the window,
anticipating the checkmate move when
suddenly, we saw a figure walk past
and as I prepared to face the foe,
‘It’s Uncle Bobby!’ the children exclaimed.
There was a loud rap on the front door,
which I opened to a familiar face
who smiled at me, and relieved I smiled back
and asked, ‘Is that your lorry outside?’
‘Yes’, our visitor replied.
‘Why are you all in the dark?’
From A Bankrupt's Diary © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton
Poetry by Ceinwen Wilson 