Your last class, dear teacher,
was ‘How to Die.’
You learned by doing.
We learned by observation.
Some die by accident.
Some die on purpose, in bed.
poem & pic by rachel mcalpine cc-by-2.0
Month: May 2017
On remand
Raindrops squatting on a velvet raft.
Midges scattering on demand.
You’re on remand from the ward today,
and back tomorrow.
Into the pit
for a tune and a tweak.
Off the track
then back on the road again.
pic & poem by rachel mcalpine cc-by-2.0
Walking up the hill
You walked up the hill
as usual unusual.
The heavy leg
like a ship with a screw in tow
wouldn’t go.
The stiff upper hip
from thigh more high
One more step,
leg too long, hang on.
Try. Try. Try.
pic and poem by rachel mcalpine cc-by-2.0
Re-mind me
Mind,
remind me:
are you still mine?
poem rachel mcalpine, pic D M Taylor family, both cc-by-2.0
Saving the world
Since you got cancer,
your roles are reversed.
Joy of living is your job,
saving the world—your hobby.
After the diagnosis
After the diagnosis
the sky goes brighter…
not murky or darker
but bluer and whiter
and lighter,
and you love
every atom
with all your might
pic & poem by rachel mcalpine cc-by-2.0
Just be there
God’s fools congregate
in the hall of absentees.
Let you in, late.
Let you out, please.
In case you wondered, here “fools” doesn’t mean idiots but jesters or innocents
pic & poem by rachel mcalpine cc-by-2.0
Your heart is dancing
Your marrow misbehaves
but a large part of you
is dancing.
Your heart is dancing a minuet,
dancing through
the inner you,
and you are still truly you,
deep as cells, deep
as metaphysics.
My brother-in-law, as part of the management and treatment of his leukaemia, watched his own heart beating during a scan. He was filled with wonder at this marvellous privilege and at the beautiful dance his heart was performing.
poem by rachel mcalpine cc-by-2.0
Language laundry
Overnight, all words are rinsed
Ready for new adventures.
Even words like ‘content’,
‘co-finance’ and ‘leukaemia’.
pic & poem by rachel mcalpine cc-by-2.0
Squinting at death
I am squinting at death
but death pixillates
into cubes
of bright.
I am looking for death
but death hides
his white eyes and bitten nails
behind my shopping list.
I am listening for death
but death’s voice is muffled
by a toddler trying
to say her cousin’s name.
pic & poem by rachel mcalpine cc-by-2.0
Poems in the wild—Rachel McAlpine 