Post by dennismlane on Jan 6, 2012 5:28:05 GMT
A couple of my poems have featured in the "Poetry Planet" section of the StarShipSofa podcast.
The next Poetry Planet is on the theme of Time Travel, and this poem should be broadcast then. Comments are most welcome!
--------------------------------------------
Grandfather
As a child he was supposed to have been my protector
‘Pops’ I called him
To the world outside he was a smiling
kindly man
always the first
to offer a helping hand
But I knew better…
Late at night
when mother was at work
he would come to my room
Tell me how much he loved me
Explain how I could show
that I loved him
I was just a kid
what could I do?
After too many of these nights
I went to my mother
stood there trembling…
Finally
I managed to spit it out
the filth that I’d endured
the horror visited upon me in the dark
And
she refused to believe
With dead eyes
eyes that could not meet mine
and with lying lips
she said that I must be mistaken
that Pops was a good man
and he loved us both
Years later
I realised that mother knew
that she too had endured
visits in the dead of night
But
that could not excuse her
she knew
and she could have stopped it
but fear
or shame
stopped her
And so
the visits continued
When I was old enough
big enough to wield a knife
I dreamed of cutting off Pops’ head
like that of an ogre in one of my storybooks
But
deep down
I knew that the death of my grandfather
would not take away the pain
would not end the nightmares
I was broken
my soul could not be mended
and so
I devised a plan
Despised at school
ridiculed for always having my head in a book
I kept my head down
I studied
and I escaped the town
that had been my prison
Years passed by
years in which I rarely saw mother
hardly ever saw Pops
as colleagues went home for the holidays
there was no smiling family at the fireside for me
I stayed in the lab
working
and the pieces came together
Until
one day
the test rig disappeared!
Years of suppressing my tears
of not talking
came to my aid
The test rig disappeared
and I didn’t move
didn’t shout in triumph
I just smiled to myself
sure that my plan was near to fruition
Pops was long dead
mother was in a home
my fallen arches were a testament to a youth long flown
But
Pops still haunted my dreams
still caused me to wake up crying
and he always would
A long weekend
the laboratory empty
as I assembled the components
parts of a machine that I had conceived decades before
the other researchers had no idea what they had been working on
all those years
No time for tests
no need for goodbyes
I set the dials
engaged the flywheel
and blinked out of existence
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
The machine brought me here
to a familiar street
I stand outside that house
a building that
to me
has always been full of darkness
and I’m surprised by how bright
how new
how clean it looks
The comforting feel of the knife
smooth and cool against my flesh
reassures me
as I walk up the path
Theory talks about the Grandfather Paradox
but I don’t believe it
what can the universe do?
strike me down with lightning?
propel me back to the lab?
I have travelled through time
and no theoretical restriction is going to stop me
I walk up the path and past the apple tree
strangely small
newly planted by Pops
then I slip down by the side of the house
and into the always open back door
As I enter the kitchen
Pops jumps to his feet
I pull out the knife
and he stops
Unusually for him
he has no words
no slick excuses
Words fail me too
not a day has gone by
when I haven’t thought about what I would say
how I would accuse my abuser
but now
here
there is nothing to say
Before he has a chance to move
I strike
the blade sinks deep
and his face goes slack
the way mother’s face went slack
that day so long ago
(ago?)
when I told her
(tell her?)
what Pops had done
The young faced
smooth faced
two faced
abuser
slips silently to the floor
blood pooling around him
As his heart flutters and slows
I feel my own heart fading
like the propellers of a plane
struggling to bite in air too thin
I wonder if
in that far off old people’s home
mother’s heart is also fighting
straining to beat just one last time
My blood drenched hand seems to phase out of existence
flesh becoming transparent
while
on the floor
Pops gurgles once more
and
as three hearts beat their last
I know that he will not touch my unborn mother
that he will never come to my bed
to break the child that I was
and
in that last instant
before all is remade
I
smile
The next Poetry Planet is on the theme of Time Travel, and this poem should be broadcast then. Comments are most welcome!
--------------------------------------------
Grandfather
As a child he was supposed to have been my protector
‘Pops’ I called him
To the world outside he was a smiling
kindly man
always the first
to offer a helping hand
But I knew better…
Late at night
when mother was at work
he would come to my room
Tell me how much he loved me
Explain how I could show
that I loved him
I was just a kid
what could I do?
After too many of these nights
I went to my mother
stood there trembling…
Finally
I managed to spit it out
the filth that I’d endured
the horror visited upon me in the dark
And
she refused to believe
With dead eyes
eyes that could not meet mine
and with lying lips
she said that I must be mistaken
that Pops was a good man
and he loved us both
Years later
I realised that mother knew
that she too had endured
visits in the dead of night
But
that could not excuse her
she knew
and she could have stopped it
but fear
or shame
stopped her
And so
the visits continued
When I was old enough
big enough to wield a knife
I dreamed of cutting off Pops’ head
like that of an ogre in one of my storybooks
But
deep down
I knew that the death of my grandfather
would not take away the pain
would not end the nightmares
I was broken
my soul could not be mended
and so
I devised a plan
Despised at school
ridiculed for always having my head in a book
I kept my head down
I studied
and I escaped the town
that had been my prison
Years passed by
years in which I rarely saw mother
hardly ever saw Pops
as colleagues went home for the holidays
there was no smiling family at the fireside for me
I stayed in the lab
working
and the pieces came together
Until
one day
the test rig disappeared!
Years of suppressing my tears
of not talking
came to my aid
The test rig disappeared
and I didn’t move
didn’t shout in triumph
I just smiled to myself
sure that my plan was near to fruition
Pops was long dead
mother was in a home
my fallen arches were a testament to a youth long flown
But
Pops still haunted my dreams
still caused me to wake up crying
and he always would
A long weekend
the laboratory empty
as I assembled the components
parts of a machine that I had conceived decades before
the other researchers had no idea what they had been working on
all those years
No time for tests
no need for goodbyes
I set the dials
engaged the flywheel
and blinked out of existence
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
The machine brought me here
to a familiar street
I stand outside that house
a building that
to me
has always been full of darkness
and I’m surprised by how bright
how new
how clean it looks
The comforting feel of the knife
smooth and cool against my flesh
reassures me
as I walk up the path
Theory talks about the Grandfather Paradox
but I don’t believe it
what can the universe do?
strike me down with lightning?
propel me back to the lab?
I have travelled through time
and no theoretical restriction is going to stop me
I walk up the path and past the apple tree
strangely small
newly planted by Pops
then I slip down by the side of the house
and into the always open back door
As I enter the kitchen
Pops jumps to his feet
I pull out the knife
and he stops
Unusually for him
he has no words
no slick excuses
Words fail me too
not a day has gone by
when I haven’t thought about what I would say
how I would accuse my abuser
but now
here
there is nothing to say
Before he has a chance to move
I strike
the blade sinks deep
and his face goes slack
the way mother’s face went slack
that day so long ago
(ago?)
when I told her
(tell her?)
what Pops had done
The young faced
smooth faced
two faced
abuser
slips silently to the floor
blood pooling around him
As his heart flutters and slows
I feel my own heart fading
like the propellers of a plane
struggling to bite in air too thin
I wonder if
in that far off old people’s home
mother’s heart is also fighting
straining to beat just one last time
My blood drenched hand seems to phase out of existence
flesh becoming transparent
while
on the floor
Pops gurgles once more
and
as three hearts beat their last
I know that he will not touch my unborn mother
that he will never come to my bed
to break the child that I was
and
in that last instant
before all is remade
I
smile