jan 06 dear cbook

8/6/2019 Jan 06 Dear Cbook

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DearWhoev

er


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AlanGarvey

The Paranoid Ramblings of Being

Three years hes been at it.A few bottles were sunk but one morebag of plaster and the jobs over,

this house will be in order.

At night, when the shuttersare open, his ceiling reminds him

of a moonlit ocean choppy with breakingwaves of uninvited guestswho tend to be problems in bed.

He remembers crumbs in the butter,lights left on and the paranoid ramblingsof being, only to fall back to the woodlice

who run away like that wish for August daysand a long gravel path of shadeto a redhead whos fey, who calls him in,

Move closer, lower down, in the corner. Sleep.Woodlice have all night to creep.

22

Contents

Dear Whoever 5Past the Glass 6

Barbie 7Odeveryday 8

No Rose Petals 9Drawing the Line 10

Magpie 11Susanne 12Breeder 13Piercing 14

Not for You 15Off the Beaten Track 16

Ripcord 17Less than a mile from the main road 18

A moment of doubt 19


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Hypochondriac 20Flurry 21

The Paranoid Ramblings of Being 22

Hypochondriac

Blood hangs from me in stalactites thickeningwith age.

They betray no sign of the incisions made.

Pinhole surgery each opening a hook from aceilingwhere I suspend my self, the one I wearopenly.

The others spread from cell to cell, grow daily.Precious few microbes I call my own thesedays.

Ownership is in dispute and possession is thelaw.

Parasites with pallid faces, theyre sated formoments only.

They are forcing me out: their territoriesstretch furtherdown my arteries for they move from myheart,

the involuntary, softest muscle always at work,always open to attack. The lazy they leave tilllast.

Doctors fill forms, graphs are traced of mypeaks and troughs.I dream now of safe results. Somewhere in this

world

it is antiseptic; some place barren where theblood,like wisps of cotton, catches on thermals andrises,

knitting itself into clouds.

20

Dear Whoever

You may recall we wrote you some time agoregarding our Accident Insurance Plan?


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No one likes to dwell on possibilities,but what would happen if something did?Whod pay all the bills?

How could you take the chanceof leaving your family expensesand running debts like bedsoresif you were hooked up by a lineto a life support machine?

We know its not likelyto happen, but were bankingon your feelings for your family,to make sure theyre adequatelyprotected from the worst.

We hate to burst your bubblebut wouldnt your loved onesbe out on a limb if you lost one?

Your leg maybe or your arm?Whod cut the turkey at Christmas?

We know you want to keep themfed, and safe from harm.

5

Less than a mile from themain road

he whispers a mantra, a mantrathat he too is a sound in the dark,as he looms over the grave

of the cinnamon hamster he gave her,He recalls stories of this house,how no one broke into it before,

how a glass disc cut from a ground floorwindow was found, a handbag movedbut left behind, a million & one signs

something takes care of this landwhere twigs crack behind his back,apple trees appear as undead hands

or spiders furred with phantom moss,of wheelbarrow tips at man-size plots,and the axe in the woodshed that missed

but caught his hair in the ghostly airthat glows beneath a witches moonwhich breezes through doors he locked

and snuffs the candles in his room.


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18

Barbie

That last blackened-over-a-bonfire summer nightpoured an unusual sauceover the proceedings.

Some were not surehow it should be done medium, rare orhow it turned out?

The meat had notbeen spoiledbeneath the carboncrunch of blackthere still laythe sweetnessof a little girl.

7

Off the Beaten Track

The brittle quality of last years stalkstread on my squeamish nerves.

They crackle and crunch like a packetof crisps or snails shells underfoot.

The damp green is no better. Theres depth wherever I place my step.Foot length blades wrap my anklesand try to pull me down.Holes worry me.

Tunnels of uncut grassemit sounds, a trapped whineor the call to hounds on a rabbitsstrictly timetabled trail.I knew those holes led to hellbut what could I do?I was in for a falland late about it too.


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16

No Rose PetalsNo rose petals to soothe a visitors tread

through a simple stone arch to this hushedground,

just pine needle clusters that form a bed.

Fall into it, youll never make a sound.

Rows of fingernails buried in the earthscrape at the sky and try to grasp at God.

The headstones rise, every death a birthreverse, return to womb under the sod.

All mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers;all these lives and everything theyve seenand all with the same style stone, theseQuakers.

Im kept out by bars of emerald green,me being alive and of little faith.He has no time for me (for now) this Death.

9

Piercing

Pity please, for these momentswe touch sideways at times:your perfumes sudden change,the December sun isolatingeach barren aspenin crystal loneliness,the still chill of my hand.It has strayed too far.


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14

Magpie

Solitude does not become mein many eyes. Alone I ama target for stoning,the muttering of oathsbeneath the breathor a cross curledaround ones fingers.

Headline of the sky,my feathers allow forno ambiguities.Either light reflects oris absorbed completely.

11

Susanne

She took her drum with herslung over a shoulderbroad as a hockey players

Im not saying she was fator bulky in anywaybut athletic

powerful

ready to hurla discus or javelinshe could run a decathlon

she could pin a man downand hold him exactlywhere he wanted


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12

Breeder

His horses also, are tired; once they werestrong.Ditches and fences have taken their toll.His riding crop is no longer used, it hangsin the stable. The forge too, is quiet.No more sparks are struck from the anvil. Yetin those moments broken by a door as it bangsshut, he recalls their pedigrees, a lineage toextol.What happened? He wonders. What went wrong?

13

Drawing the Line

I try to sleep with my unshaven faceto the other, empty side of the bed.It used to have your shape and warmth thatplace.Since then, there are two pillows for one head.I miss my arm muffled beneath your neckand hairs like spider webs stuck in my nose.I wonder what cards we pulled from the deckto make that happen? No more tickling toesor red wine and cheese shared by candlelight.Blades were drawn, nine swords ablaze withfurytore us apart. What judgment would a jurymake if they drank a vicious brew, our fight?Let punishment fit the crime, they may swear.I have mine and know it well: youre not there.


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10

Not for You

Not for you my darlingthe form filling five monthsbefore you hear of it.

Not for you the littleentries in a blue bankbooksaving your life away.

Not for you the slow accretionof experience, the mouldon food that puts you off eating

but the taste of ice cream

savoured in bed when workcalls in its insistent tone,

the scent of perfumebought in Bootswhen were in debt,

the feeling of a footdrunk on a dance floornot knowing where it falls next.

15

Odeveryday

The neat blue smoke of my cigaretteswirls into then blendswith the relaxed white of my exhales.

Various waves roll up to and breakagainst the matt black beachof my midi system.

Up and down, to both sides and all around,these flimsy, ephemeral roller coastersare blown away


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by the merest fresh breath.Billowing, my cloudy zephyrs lovethe air as they fondle and caress

an otherwise intangible substance,following and tracing the flowof its ethereal contours and curves

in a way we clumsy creatures are incapable of. Two of Leclairs violin concertospaint the backdrop to my tobacco composition,

to the calming influence of a smoke. Just watch and listen to the softsound of a cigarette

as its sweet music slidesfrom my mouth and fills the airwith a sophists melody.

8

Ripcord

The air is sacred in splutters of wax,leaks from the ceiling are caught in a bowl,bottles of stout blacken and soak his soul,glasses of wine nightly mount their attacks,rents unpaid, demands drop through theletterbox,mid-day wakes wear his hungover pallto work, questions build up, overdue callsweigh on his mind, laundry stinks, holes insocks

breathe fumes in second-hand boots, theresan axewith his name on it waiting, the four wallsdont hold a sound in place, a blow up dollis on the cards, landlord could change thelocksanytime, no food in the fridge to share,he wont read his books and he doesnt care.

17

Past the Glass

How could you forgetto stare past the glassat what you miss?See how dew rises,creeps from trees


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and grass, becomesfog, erases villagesand hills. It does morethan view cumuli.

Fog and cloud blendin percolated love,their body billionsof droplet doves.

6

A moment of doubt

andhere I am.I imagine myself fallingfor the third time.

Crowds will always spit and hissonly this timethe whip wont move me.Ill lie in the dustand hopefor it all to pass by.No stringing up.No chance to believe

19


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Flurry

Snowflakes burn like tracers

falling heavily against the dark,as if charged with some heavenly

mission, hell-bent on failure.

21August 2001

Set in 13 & 20 pt Garamond.


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The moral right of the author is asserted.No part of this publication may be reproduced

without prior permission.

Poems have appeared in the followingpublications:

An Eye for an Eye, THE SHOp, Southword,UCC English Literature Society Review and

Unpublished. Thanks to the editors.

By the same authorThe Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Play Dead


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Horn Press6

DearWhoever


15/15

AlanGarvey

jan 06 dear cbook

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