Sleepless
In late November
our children baste
in the Forest of Dean
and we doze in lounge
The raucous screen
storms half shuttered
as commentators clatter
in sleep filled ears
They cuddle soft toys
while we recline
separate on shared sofa
swaddled in dry air
I still feel the burn
in backs of hands
cracking gloveless skin
after leaving a cuddle
It’s only one night
I remind us, face forward
They’ll be back tomorrow
and I think of roots
Thousands of trees
stirring as stones
boar and deer masked
the moon banished
And I, a sharp lump
splintered in apathy
tell myself,
Be a rock, that life
as the blasting Severn
will smooth your edges
About the Author: Z. D. Dicks is the author of Malcontent (Black Eye Publishing) described as ‘Uncompromising, sometimes controversial, but always entertaining’ by Clive Oseman and ‘Evocative, atmospheric, breathing new life into the everyday’ by Nicola Harrison. Z. Dicks is the CEO of Gloucestershire Poetry Society and Gloucester Poetry Festival. His work has been accepted by Ink, Sweat and Tears, Three Drops from a Cauldron and Fresh Air Poetry. He frequently reads at poetry events throughout the UK.
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Image Credit: Eugène Atget “Sapin, Trianon (Pine Tree Trunks at the Trianon)” (1910) Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.
As It Ought To Be 