Poems
In memory of Lizzie Nee, (28.12.1994 -1.3.2017)
One of the loveliest young women I have known.
Little Bit of Lizzie
If you’re trying to write a story and you make it how the world is
how it feels
wrong and broken,
you’ll write despairing characters
lost and desperate
fragile angry futile lonely.
But what you also need I’ve discovered
is a little bit of Lizzie.
You might think there isn’t much of Lizzie to go round
because
the good die young.
Stupid commonplace, repeated far too often, without thought, sometimes makes me really angry, but sometimes it is true.
She was good.
And she did.
But a little Lizzie is
the drop of paint in water to colour skies a ghostly blue
the baton tap from conductors when the players are warming up
the engine-purr of rescue boats across a vast, vast sea
the silver on horizons when the day begins to dawn.
People leave a debris of themselves behind
the path they trampled through the world
remains of living messily.
But Lizzie didn’t trample.
She was a giving glow, sometimes invisible, a soft breeze of wisdom.
What’s left behind of Lizzie
every fragment
every trace
each tender tiny moment
really makes a difference.
So when I’m writing of the world
I’ll add a drop of Lizzie to make the story better.
And a little bit of Lizzie goes a long way.
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