Ray Mather Poems

The first time that he hit her
It took her breath away
A sudden act of violence
She didn’t know what to say
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No-one is born with a manual
There is no given plan
We have to work out our own way
Of getting on with our fellow man
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All gone now, all gone
That innocence
That cantering youth
That hope that held the head so high
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Thank you for calling British Gas
All of our operators are busy at the moment
Please hold the line while we try to connect you
Your call is in a queue
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I gorra sestificat Wensdy
Mum wuz ded pleezed
Fust fing ive ever wun at skule
I went brite red wen me name wuz cawled out in assemberley
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Our love has become a pot plant
We water once a week
Kept out of direct sunlight
Draught-free, contained and meek
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People standing at graves
See their own reflections
In the epitaphs
Salute the dead
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He did not see the thing that killed him,
Too intent on what had thrilled him:
The early sun on the frosted trees,
The Christmas Card look of Winter’s first freeze.
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Boys will be boys, buy him a gun;
No harm playing soldiers, it’s just childish fun.
Splatter your enemy, make sure he dies!
Revel in killing with bloodcurdling cries!
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The boy,
Trying to catch time in his arms,
Stumbles,
To find he is a man.
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