Sunday, 1 December 2013

Orgy with Damsons and Wasps

Photo Copyright Janet Cameron
This is one of my earliest poems. It's entirely autobiographical, I lived it, utterly and completely. It's not in the least sophisticated by today's standards but... well, I'm not going to apologise for it. It never won an award but the Open University chose it for their anthology.  Adrian was, and is, still, a real person. He is now a very crusty old guy who writes angry letters to politicians and companies who make, what he regards as, excessive profits.  All the letters end, "Yours in disgust." 

But, heavens, he was wonderful then.



ORGY WITH DAMSONS AND WASPS 

Adrian, up the damson tree,
doodling damsons down on me.
One in the mouth and one in the sack
and I’m a damson-o-maniac.
The sack is full.  Oh, pity, poor tum…
The bellyache season has just begun.
‘You know what’ll happen.  Shouldn’t we stop it?’
‘I know, I know.  But won’t it be worth it?'


Adrian ambles the bridle way,
a pack on his back in the heat of the day.
How can I help but wet my lips
at blue denim tenderly sculpting his hips?


Saying precisely what’s in his head,
whether or not it ought to be said.
Grazing beasts sense him but they never mind us
and echoes of silence trail softly behind us.


Oh, I know I’ll never get enough
of the sappy, succulent damson stuff.
Yet, there’s something about this purple drizzle,
for the stripey fellows are all a-sizzle.
‘Oh, Adrian, do your macho bit.
There’s a drunken lout with its tail a-twit
right here, on my cheek. What shall I do?’


‘If you don’t bug him, he won’t bug you.’


 ‘If I don’t bug him, he won’t bug me?
Well, sucks to wasp psychology!’


Damsons like bruises, tight bruises, sheened bruises,
burst, tickle my tongue, and the melting of juices,
the juice on my chin, on my lips, and the lust
and a shower of purple aglow in the dust.
Bomb berry, down derry, down damson delight!
Half the day’s gone.  Can I stay for the night?


Adrian up the damson tree
Is dolloping damsons down on me.
Imagine the carnage if coconut palms
grew in the orchards of Kent County farms.


Copyright: Janet Cameron
OU Poetry Anthology

No comments: