Two Poems for Peter Woodcock

Two poems by Christopher dedicaterd to Peter Woodcock (1939-2023). Peter, the writer and artist, is not to be confused with the serial killer with the same name born the same year.

When I felt my fever had passed right away,

And just before, you’d vanished from my sight,

I wished, I wished, I prayed, that you could stay,

To hold me close before the curtain of the night.

You nursed and comforted me in my fear.

I did not want to lie on this bed alone.

I was now well & cheered when you were near,

And soon must face the ghosts I left at home.

Base metal into gold, ashes on the shelf

Watching over me, worship to be free

To fix the desolation, wrecking health

You've died again, inside I cannot be

How can I forget the words you said

When I have your whole body in a jar

Throw them away as I lie in your bed?

Spread your ashes now, like words from afar?

You belonged to me, but didn't I as well

His dreams were mine too, not just yours alone

I was his son, never knew inside his shell

Now time for us to bring his words back home

Stolen wisdom, and stolen compassion

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