Oh where are
the kittens?
Or puppies.
Puppies would do.
Oh where are
the kittens?
Or puppies.
Puppies would do.
A warmth upon my cheek
A light behind my eyelid
As I walk within my sleep
And wake beyond my twilight
“It’s not purple;
it’s Scout Purple,”
Really,
is it richer?
Deeper?
Does it have more
meaning?
Does it dutifully
denote our service?
Does it practically
parade
our promise,
our adherence;
a simple signifier
of our Scout values
collated and codified
into one
uniform
expression of colour?
the Scout Shop
assistant
continued,
“it is dis-
continued.”
it’s like banging your head against the wall
that would not fall
but you did
as you slid
trying to flee
all that would never be
all that would stop you from standing tall
it’s like banging your head against the wall
an invite
a tentative knock at the door
tea and toast and tears
and all those things shared through the years
if I could I would love you more
less flexible now and yet
still we remain
intertwined
After the squall
another step up the stony staircase
another step closer.
A striding beacon
towering in the middle distance
signalling that to come.
Each step fragile
memories pass father to son
a failing light burning bright.
The bridge had lost its lustre; that feat of engineering which spanned
the easy ebb and flow and troubled spates and spats.
The cantilevered communication cord between parallel banks of opinion
scarred with scribbles, oversaw the writing on the wall for lesser structures.
The odd creak but a reassuring solidity remained nonetheless.
There was an occasional facelift of course, a fresh burst of enthusiasm now and then
but even neglected it still outlived many life spans, generations of storms.
A monument to its simplicity and truth.
Finding my line is all well and good
but it does not help to flood
my lungs with the oxygen I so desperately need
to feed my blood
so I can soar away from the pain and succeed
rather than bleed and sink gasping
grasping for some hope and some sign
of a glorious descent
and the line drawn by another