Piped Dreams

The door clicks a jar

compresses the draught

to a whistle that wakes me

from your arms, her arms, my brother’s

hand I held through a summer

night in the respiratory ward

down the corridor from coronary care

where he would be the next summer

and no one could visit

while he dreamt of life and dying

surviving dreams of dreaming

and not divining what was remembered

or dreamt even when sent home

to live as best he might when so tired

of medication and interventions

when all he wanted was to live

and love and still be the man

she married.


CLP 20/01/2021

On 2020

Memorable year

One I would rather forget

Finally ends here


CLP 31/12/2020

You Must Have Dreamt It

I don’t do dreams

Life doesn’t happen like that


So I wrote a poem

About you making a snow angel

Drew a picture

Sent them to you

In the mountains

By text


By return

You sent a photograph

Of the snow angel

You had impressed

Upon the latest fall

Moments before




This morning I span into a second sleep

And dreamt

Of you living with your friend

In her apartment


You messaged me as I woke

And then we spoke

As you carried what you could

Of the non-essential things

To that very flat




I don’t do dreams

Life doesn’t happen like that


CLP 21/12/2020


Is it safe to ask? he asked

Ask what? she asked.

You know he said.

You’ve lost me there, she sighed.


She had hoped for something more direct;

straight-forward, clear

But what she heard, was what she feared

So with his faint words

He lost her there.


CLP 17/10/2020