“I’m Not Having That!”

It came as a shock,

A sensationalist presenter of a tabloid talk show,

Dead, killed, live on TV.

 

He had been crouched low,

In front of the set.

Goading an increasingly agitated-looking guest.

Waving typed-out notes in one hand,

Pointing his microphone accusingly in the other.

 

The murmuring of the audience increased in volume as he spat out formulaic provocations.

 

Where were the security staff,

As the burly youth rose from his chair?

All at once running and swinging his leg backwards,

Before bringing his boot into contact

With the underside of his inquisitor’s chin.

 

Over,

In less than two seconds.

 

It was shown and re-shown, endlessly on the news.

Stopping just before the critical moment,

To spare viewers of an unpleasant scene,

As a body lifted up and a head snapped backwards.

 

A mercifully,

Quick release.

For all concerned

And for all people everywhere,

Including ancestors and descendants.

 

Bar Work

Working a shift at the bar, I’m friendly although I’d rather be home.

Some people are sweet, charming or just plain pleasant,

while a few others, forget I’m here, it can seem.

No eye contact, simply “I want a beer”,

it’s ok, I don’t make it personal.

I guess it’s how they are

in their lives.

Likely

so.

Yet,

maybe it

wouldn’t hurt,

for schools to throw

some lessons in, on simple

pleasantries, common courtesy and

friendliness, when engaging with a fellow

human being, doing their work, making their living,

employed in a shop, hotel, railway station, library, restaurant, etc.

 

The Mindfulness Garden Walk (and the Chairs)

the mindfulness walk (and the chairs)

After an hour’s meditation, the group begin their usual slow walk, around the garden.
I am there, bringing up the rear, one foot placed in front of the other.
Green plastic patio chairs occupy a space near the middle, positioned without pattern.
My preference is for rows, what’s with this randomness?

The irrepressible urge to swear in church, now manifests as a different temptation.
I want to pick up a chair,
Hurl it into the borders, decapitating flower-heads, causing damage to shrubs.
And then another chair, followed by them all.

Instead, I imagine an aftermath of shocked faces turning towards me in slow motion.
Wailing, hands clasped to ears.
Catching a sudden breath in my chest, I am back.
Repressing the thoughts, which replay the sequence several times over,
A sense of relief settles.

3 Verse Free Verse: 1 life in 2 Worlds

They are not so different from each other, my awake and asleep worlds.

The reality and the dreams, are relatively consistent to themselves and with each other.

Definitely, with some overlap.

Conversations in dreams are as normal as it gets,

Handshakes, introductions and farewells.

Plus everything in between you’d expect,

From understandings to confusements.

It all seems pretty normal to me.

 

There, I have never found myself flying above buildings and trees

(unassisted by technology or otherwise),

Although, I drive a car, have ridden a bike and travelled by train.

The cities and countryside, are what I’d expect to find.

Green grass, brown-coloured bark on trees, grey pavements and red brick buildings.

I don’t ever recall writing in a dream, playing a guitar or reading a book.

Unless I can’t remember those dreams where I do.

Or, maybe I’m awake and back here, when I am doing those things, there?

I’m not sure…

 

I don’t hear loud dance music from the neighbours, on sunny afternoons,

In dreamland.

People aren’t knocking on the door trying to sell me things I have no need of nor desire,

In dreamland.

Sometimes I have no money on me there, but this is true here, too.

Occasionally, it’s a struggle to move physically, there.

Metaphor extraordinaire, for here.

And sometimes, I experience the sadness of loss.