Josa Young has always written poems, but occasionally when moved to do so by overwhelming emotional states that she couldn’t express in any other way. In 2016, she began to write poetry often – triolets, villanelles, free verse and sonnets – and perform it at the Book Club, the Society Club and elsewhere in London. Two of her poems have now been accepted for publication. She hopes to produce a ‘slim volume’ soon. Without time to write full-length novels, poetry has allowed her to say things about stuff that didn’t fit into any other format. Here is a small selection:
IN MARKS & SPENCER
I lay kisses on my daughter’s skin
It is how I worship her
How I love her with pangs of love
That sweep through me and make me shiver
She doesn’t know
The escalator groans like glaciers
She doesn’t know that my cheek
No longer gets the worship
That’s no big deal for her
My mother’s gone
My ambiguous mother with her partial love
Who shrugged me off when little and too loving
Who died and left me weeping
Whose huge arm like a whale’s fin
Hung heavy round my shoulder
As she lay dying
THE EXES YOU DON’T EXPECT
Last night as I slept
My mind threw up the dancing shapes
I knew them
Insubstantial though they were
To be my ex nephews and nieces
They had no particular form
They were made of love
And leaves blew through them
I knew who they were
Because my heart hurt
I loved those dancing children
I knew they’d gone
In fact they’ve just grown
Not a child amongst them any more
Gone too from me
Gone with the family
From which I fled
Only the pain in my heart is real
NOT NEUTRINOS AFTER ALL
(Neutrinos are sub atomic particles with a mass close to zero, the most tiny quantity of reality ever imagined by a human being.)
I have to let the feels
Flow through my body
Like solar neutrinos.
The likelihood of a feel
Hitting a sore spot
Is infinitely higher
Than a neutrino colliding
With proton or neutron
In our bodies.
Which is 1.77 x 10 -20 (to the negative power of 20).
Calculate length of life,
Early separation from mother
Not being loved x infinity
Soft body stuffed
With sore spots.
Whereas, at a sub-atomic level, our bodies are
A fragile universe of sub-nuclear particles
Floating in almost infinite space,
We are echoing chambers of simply nothing at all
Compared to the jostling density
Of pain that harbours in all of us.
Careless blows on tender places.
Unkind words, dismissal,
Silence in the place of love.
Each is invisible inflammation.
So the calculation
Of feels hitting sore spots is
Much less slight.
Average number of neutrino collisions in your body per lifetime?
Infinite is the number of collisions
Between the feels
And the sore spots.
So, allowing feels to pass
Through our selves
Is not like tiny neutrinos at all.
More like being blasted with a 12-bore
Shotgun colandering flesh as the lead tears
Ragged, bloody passages.
And I should stop using this
Useless neutrino simile
That betrays my ignorance of particle physics
A PASSIONATE DIMWIT’S RESPONSE TO METAPHYSICS
Being – Synaptic sparks jump
From the ill-disciplined fire
That is my mind.
Time – can’t buy it,
Can spend it
The days peel away like burnt skin.
I am raw with longing.
Space – cold, final.
Existence – sub-atomic-particles in space
Trompe l’oeil at best
Poke a finger through that terrible void.
Objects and their properties.
Cause and effect – reap what you sow – or not.
That’s what heaven’s for, or hell
Helps the poor saps bear it.
Possibility – now this one’s truly infinite
Ontology – Being, becoming, existence or reality.
Red, white, blue. Human.
Not. Dry, wet, green.
Truth, lies and parsimony.
Categorise to make safe what we perceive.
Truth as dangerous as IEDs.
Fundamental structure –
Tough wraith trapped in earth’s crust made flesh.
Duality wrapped in materialism.
Nature – So various, vile and sublime.
Ground less quaking here.
Rot and sex and birth.
But oh that faint foul whiff of death;
An airy thread
Through warm spring afternoons.
Dynamic and its opposite.
Only maggots move
In the still socket of a once eye.
Empiricism – Did you do it? Do you feel it? Can you know it?
Pin down my virtual arms with your ghostly palms.
What idea can you form of me without empirical experience
Skin to skin?
Given your predilections, a posteriori makes me laugh.
Damn you for making me feel.
Cannot bear to dream of your philosophy.