Poetry

Recently I was honoured to have The Parcel included in The First Anthology of Works from the Friends' Poetry Reading. This is an international publication put together by supporters of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina. Other English poets included are John Donne, Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. I wonder what on earth they would have made of this poem?



THE PARCEL

Iʼm going to make a parcel up
And leave it at your door
Iʼll fill it with all sorts of things
Youʼll never want for more

When you first unwrap youʼll find
Your promises for me
Covered with your words of love
And ideology

Next youʼll find a bundle of
Deception, tricks and lies
Wrapped in pinky paper
And looking like a prize

Then thereʼll be a package of
The years you had with me
But this one is all torn now
A pile of debris

Oh, and thereʼs a box sealed tight
Containing but a few
Of the many endless tears
Iʼve shed over you

Thereʼs more besides, but I donʼt wish
To ruin the surprise
Maybe it will help you once
To open up your eyes

Iʼll leave this great big parcel, dear,
All glistening and neat
There upon your doorstop
That leads down to the street

And when you open up your door
And take an outward step
I hope you find my parcel, dear,
And trip, and break your neck!



 

HELIUM BALLOON

In the thickest nebulous
In the driest wet
By the boring fabulous
Near the credit debt

There youʼll find the seaside wine
And drown in sandy air
When the helium balloon
Is too much weight to bear

Youʼve travelled further standing still
Than the planes high in the sky
But you wait for the thunder
And all you hearʼs a sigh

But if you wait for yesterday
Or cry for whatʼs not said
Youʼll be there when nothing comes
Standing on your head

All you want is everything
All you fear is pain
Holding on until the dawn
These things never change

Then one more time youʼre reminded
One more time you think you might find it
Canʼt wait, run out the door
Saying, “See you later, I want more!”

Then youʼre in the thickest nebulous again
In the driest wet again
Bored by the fabulous again
Saying, “When will I ever learn, oh when?”

Again you find the seaside wine
And drown in sandy air
Ride in the helium balloon
And sink into somewhere

Youʼve travelled further standing still
And you didnʼt even try
But you turn again
Youʼre standing high and dry

But if you wait for yesterday
Or cry for whatʼs not said
Youʼll be there when nothing comes
Standing on your head.



 

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Poetry
Poetry by Rosemary Schonfeld. Illustrations by Ann Barefoot.