The Dive

Photograph – Copyright Dan Wesker 2010

The Dive

The gulls stuck to the sky are torn
tissue paper, the sea’s foam a loose

white thread. The memory rises from
the waves, a mermaid wanting legs,

sharp to her as daggers. You ran in to
the surf laughing; your child-skin immune

to its cold slap. Now all that’s left is
a dent in the water, a bubble of air.

Poem – Copyright Naomi Woddis 2010

Impregnate

Photograph – Copyright Dan Wesker 2010

Impregnate

This bauble of belly must be a mirage.
Is this what the angel meant
when he whispered, just out of range,
the word imp?

One day this will be yours, a neat
rendering of a story, a page scrambled
with baby footprints. One magpie
means sorrow, two the joy you regain.

This boy-child’s a magnet
and your heart’s a painter -
sky-broad brushstrokes teaming
on canvas. A brand new era.

Poem – Copyright Naomi Woddis 2010

Rigid

Photograph – Copyright Dan Wesker 2010

Rigid

We come, a spillage of school trips and coach parties, to look at the black thumb-print of a lonely bird muddying the horizon. The cheerleaders can ra-ra-ra all they want but what difference does it make? His beak’s a syringe to your soft wet eyeball. You’ve enough crossings-outs to make a fence with, all that’s left is the rip in what’s not there.

The atlas reads like a sonnet. If only you could understand the moment something upped and went. This black bird folds his wings behind his back and says I’m the flight away you never took, I’m all your hard edges, you at your most simple, I’m your innocence. There’s a sting of cheap alcohol on his bird breath.

I’m not the one in a cage! He yells,

jabbing his rigid little wing against your cheek bone. Soon all you’ll have is this caught-on-repeat recollection of a drunken blackbird spouting truisms on a rock. Off you shuffle, past the bird-shit and, even if you can’t see it, behind the high buildings, the stone angels with their chipped wings, the horizon is still there, a slow wave advancing its way towards you.

Poem – Copyright Naomi Woddis 2010

Little Darling

Photograph – Copyright Dan Wesker 2010

Little Darling

The stories we heard about Nina,
how she’d walk out half way
through a gig for no reason at all.

After her death we found out how ill
she’d been, but it didn’t stop us loving
her and the ache in her voice.

She taught us that a fist can block
out the sun, but it shines anyway.
The summer light illuminates

a red party dress hanging in the window.
You were his little darling, so much
trust wasted in the bullets of his hands.

Poem – Copyright Naomi Woddis 2010

What a Dog Sees

Photograph – Copyright Dan Wesker 2010

What a Dog Sees

in a puddle of water
is not just his reflection
but the barks of other dogs

their yelps falling
in new rain
splashing a dance
in pre-breakfast air

sees
other paws muddy with joy
off leash

then tilts his wet nose

towards sky
and buildings

some have bad people in them
they do not feed his brothers
and steal the wag
from happy tails

what a dog sees
are the circles
walked
by those on two legs

lack of courage
over cooked meals
unanswered telephones

so much water
and the memory of almost drowning
in his puppy paws

head cocked his ears
a net to capture
all this human chatter

and wonders what this world
would want
with all this talking

Poem – Copyright Naomi Woddis 2010

A Thin Pane of Glass

Photograph – Copyright Dan Wesker 2010

A Thin Pane of Glass

Freezing winter air,
mist on a thin pane of glass.
This plant’s pretty green
leaves; hearts fighting to survive
cold. Two worlds separated.

Poem – Copyright Naomi Woddis 2010

Jagged

Photograph – Copyright Dan Wesker 2009

Jagged

Today I saw them both
in a photograph. Him
the new king, back
resting against
a hard won throne.

Her face cross-hatched
with worry, wearing
pretty pink eye-shadow
and a smile meant
only for pictures.

I still have the bouquet,
hardened to darkness,
its shadow jagged
as a dancer. Red
as the cry of first sex.

Poem – Copyright Naomi Woddis 2009

Eve Walks at Midnight

Photograph – Copyright Dan Wesker 2009

Eve Walks at Midnight

There is a crunch your jaw aches for.
The truth will be found on this short walk
in the rain, its grey shower a million first
kisses. In the mirror the emptying clouds
have made you might even see yourself.
An apple hangs in a nest of branches,
a red smile in the darkening air awaiting
your bite. Tomorrow you will know
what it means to fall, but tonight
carrying the browning apple core
in the curl of your palm, you hurry
home to the sleeping Adam to share
with him your good news.

Poem – Copyright Naomi Woddis 2009

Morning Rain

Photograph – Copyright Dan Wesker

Morning Rain

Two hundred bicycles
locked up on a far platform.

A sleeping herd of chain,
grease and handlebar,

their wheels pumped.
Waiting for the end

of work-day, to be pedal-
pushed under sagging autumn

skies. They catch a wink of sun
on metal spines, designed

only for moving forward.
Except one, lonely as a drunk,

propped against an alley wall,
its owner gutter-happy elsewhere.

Morning brings a sobering fall
of rain and the knowledge that

abandoned bicycles know more
stories than you’ll ever tell.

Poem – Copyright Naomi Woddis 2009

It was like a life

…It was like a life photographed as it came to mind,
without any order, full of gaps giving at best a general
impression. I couldn’t help feeling all the way to the
new paper office, past the post office, the moroccan cafe,
the ancient whore, that I had got somewhere new by way
of memories I hadn’t known I possessed.
I had taken up the thread of life
from very far back,
from so far back as innocence.

‘A Salmon Tea’ by Grahame Greene