The Hazel Riley Project

Persephone (C)

As snowflakes form, unseen,
your joy freezes
in the grey dawn
 
the dark months of longing
behind you still cast a shadow
 
you shiver as the first ray of grey light
touches your pale skin
 
is this the sun you dreamed?
 
11/2/15

Muses   (C)   
​                                          05/02/02
You come bearing gifts and promises
You’ve no need of hospitality
kind words or flattery
you have it all… light life
grace flows from your toes as
you step over my threshold
 
my eyes shine as the gentle swell of images rises
to high tide
I’m still exulting when I feel the draft… 
 
Leaving so soon? Something I said?
A candle unlit? 
My lips are sealed, the words
Like honey congealed on the edge of the jar
 
* no punctuation in original except ?s  ‘or failed to do’ changed to ‘a candle unlit.
   Some changes line breaks

​The Waiting Room (C)
​
The waiting room is redolent of other memories
and unacknowledged fears
forgotten things that linger
and hope to find new anchorage
lonely things which persist
drifting between before and after
after and before
 
In the waiting room it’s never clear
whether there’s any necessity to be here.
The curtains are never clean.
And the paint is too thick on the walls.
Jolly pictures add to the despair.
And always a clock, that marks the time you’ve waited there.
 
May 4 89     Original title Appointment with death, crossed out.   Modified a bit.

Driver (C) 
​
He wished, he said, he’d learned Spanish.
His wife spoke it. They had a house in Marbella, spent a month there, before taking the ferry to Tangiers
where he was born. So much better now he said,
many of the old buildings gone, and cleaner.
Due to the king spending time there.
He knew London’s streets as well as any black cab driver.
Been here for 18 years, talked about the weather.
Grumbled about the rain, then said he welcomed it.
Without it, he said, we couldn’t grow fruit and vegetables.
Drought in Morocco. Why did the English moan about it?
It kept the trees green.
He turned expansive on the Euston Road.
He liked old people like us. We kept him in business.
The young used apps and only booked UBER.
Old people like us didn’t understand technology,
had no idea how to use it. Some customers were regulars,
ten years or longer. We let it pass and smiled, without nodding.

Matador (C)
​
You invoked the matador
but I doubted
despite your outfit.
It was the too neat haircut,
as if the barber waited
in the wings, scissors
ready to snip off any miscreant
hair, to reinforce the so slick
shine from open tin.
you invoked the horns
​but I doubted
you had courage to face the bull
never mind to conquer.
You could whirl a cloak
with elegance, but not thrust
any sword into flesh and gristle.
And that smile, set upon your lips
looks too brittle.
You invoked Death
but I doubted
that dark lord would bother
to obey. Your feet percussive
but not commanding. Your machismo
unconvincing. Oh I wanted
wilder hair, not Tintin’s tiny quiff.
No tingle touched my spine.
We all clapped, politely.