Poems for Adults
TALENTED
Mum preens, and picks the dress that makes her look her best.
Dad forces the tie around his neck and pulls a frown.
They don't want to stand out from the rest
But don't want to let their children down.
Her shoes are tight and crimp her toes
His collar’s tight, shirt pulls across his chest,
A touch of pancake masks a blemish on her nose -
On a night like this they want to look their best…
The school is dark, only five cars in the yard,
They've got here far too early but they know
Leave it late, and finding parking will be hard
They'd have to walk a mile through snow.
They do not see the posters on the walls,
Or read the work that's mounted on the boards.
It's just the assembly hall that calls
And a son whose talent pulls parental cords.
They take seats in the second row
They don't want to seem too pushy here
They smile at other parents that they know
To cover up their nervousness and fear.
They hardly hear the others as they perform.
They wait with bated breath for the climax of the show.
The boy they've treasured since he was born
Will take the stage - a key solo.
And as he plucks the strings they swell with pride.
No music fell so sweetly on their ears.
And as applause swells like a tide
Tears sting their eyes as they join in the cheers.
And those who know them stop them as they leave
To tell them yes - their son’s a star
Every parent there believes
This is one child who will go far.
The wind howls as the shoppers hug
The shelter of the buildings as they walk
Towards the entrance to the tube
That will swallow them and take them home.
A figure in a dirty coat is standing in a door,
His fingers cold and chapped,
But he lifts the fiddle to his chin
And draws the bow across the strings.
The sound that charms the air is sad.
The melody is pouring from the heart.
And a woman turns and almost stops -
But hurries on as wind plucks at her skirts.
Does anyone who passes there
Remember the golden boy who played
And lit a school hall with his skill?
And does anyone reflect on this:
What sort of world rewards the talentless
And lets true genius beg for bread?
TWIN STARS
Some couples as they age
Become like old slippers.
The tensions and anxieties of youth
Stretch the fabric of their relationship
Until what was once an irritation
Becomes comfortable and familiar.
But not us.
We are like twin stars
That circle round each other endlessly
And as you stroke my arm as you walk past
And as I run my fingers through your hair, we kiss,
The heat of our love shines bright
And our twin stars fill the night with light.
AN ODE TO ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGIANCE
The robot stared through electronic tubes
That flashed with neon red:
‘Instruct!’ it commanded.
‘Write a poem,’ I said.
A buzz. A click. A vacant stare.
‘Poem? Specify. What is that?’
I sighed, trying to explain.
‘Prose is flat.
A poem is a living thing.
It breathes and feels, it twists and squirms.
It transforms words and makes them sing,
It tells of inner dreams and hopes and fears.
It soars with hope and drips with tears.
Words are forged into a cannon ball
That flies through walls of apathy and can make a tyrant fall:
Born deep within the heart and soul
It’s a mother’s kiss – a baby’s cry!’
Silence. A buzz. A click.
‘I have no heart,’ the robot sighed.
‘No soul…’