#michael laskey

by Michael Laskey

If you can’t bring yourself to build a snowman or even to clench a snowball or two to fling  at the pine tree trunk, at least find some reason to take you out

of yourself: scrape a patch of grass clear for the birds maybe; prod at your shrubs so they shake off the weight, straighten up; or just stump about leaving prints of your boots, breath steaming out.

Yesterday was a good day and a sad say. A good day because Smiths Knoll, the poetry magazine edited by Joanna Cutts and Michael Laskey, arrived on my doormat. A sad day because, after twenty-one years, yesterday’s issue, number 50, will be its last. (It is a cracker by the way, full to bursting with energy and life.) I had seen the notice on the Smiths Knoll website warning that this day would…

Praise the Rain

Praise the rain; the seagull dive The curl of plant, the raven talk— Praise the hurt, the house slack The stand of trees, the dignity— Praise the dark, the moon cradle The sky fall, the bear sleep— Praise the mist, the warrior name The earth eclipse, the fired leap— Praise the backwards, upward sky The baby cry, the spirit food— Praise canoe, the fish rush

Lifesaving Poems: Michael Laskey’s ‘Bike’

It was a huge privilege to share poems in workshops I gave at the Greenbelt festival last weekend. Here is one of the poems we read and discussed, by one of my favourite poets -and people- in the world.

  Bike

  You, who have borne three sons of mine, still bear my weight routinely, transporting me.

An odd pair: your classic spare lines – elbows, bony frame – and me, bearlike, cumbersome,

nosing…

Even when I rub her back

in bed sometimes, when my hand

curves over a shoulder blade

or the tips of my fingers affirm

her warm breathing skin and follow

the course of her vertebrae down

the long valley of her spine; 

even then, so close to her all

but inaudible sigh of wellbeing,

I miss her, I grieve for her, ache

for the small of her back I’m actually

making much of, stroking - better

Lifesaving Poems: Kath Mckay’s ‘Father’s Day 1970′

  During the Christmas period I am reposting some old posts from my archive. 

Wishing all my readers a very happy Christmas, and joy and fulfilment in the new year.

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  Father’s Day 1970

This is the day my father lets us sleep, then brings us tea in bed. The sun streams in at unusual angles. He leaves his docker’s hook among the coats, and his gasbag empty, like…