Quiche Crisis

Not in all my life, have I made such a mess.

A collapsing goat’s cheese and something quiche,

Fresh, out of the oven.

 

Mid-transit from baking tray to plate,

Disintegration, mid-air.

Unstable, hot ingredients distributed,

 

Across hob, worktop, floor and plate.

I just can’t cope with the situation by myself.

Can’t believe this is happening, to me.

A Reflection From a Shop Window

Previously,

my tummy got bloated

after a filling meal,

commonly a pasta dish,

a Chinese or a curry.

 

Lately,

my tummy looks engorged

before eating anything.

The result,

of calorific food.

 

I seek not a six pack,

only flatness,

to look less gross,

in the reflection

of a shop window.

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.

 

Knife

I wish I could use a cutlery knife properly,

It’s a problem with roots in childhood.

A life-skill overlooked, one not taught.

Although, I see my mother reading this

And exclaiming, ‘Yes I jolly well did!’

“If you did Ma, I forgot how to,

Somewhere along the way.”

 

I think about this occasionally, when eating

And only then, do I move the knife

In a sawing motion.

But usually, I use the knife as a tool

To tear the food apart,

Employing a fork to pin down the toast

(For example),

Held in place on the plate.

 

I feel like a savage

Or an ill-educated poor kid,

When awareness strikes,

Which now and then, it does.

It’s a habit and a behaviour

Hard to re-programme,

Even when given a steak-knife.

a pantoum: Nothing to Talk About

We can’t talk about this or that

It’s getting close

Not knowing

What we can talk about

 

It’s getting close

And we both feel the same

What we can talk about

It’s becoming small

 

And we both feel the same

We both see how

It’s becoming so small

But we can’t stop

 

We both see how

We can’t talk about this or that

But we can’t stop

Not knowing

 

With thanks to Wikipedia for ever useful information. Image credit pedrov_dog  (^___^)

The Vacuum

I dislike vacuuming, for the effort it requires

the cat hair and fluff settles

and is hard to extract from the carpet.

I can’t blame the cats

for if I groomed them each day

it wouldn’t be quite so bad.

But then, this requires effort too

and they wouldn’t like it

struggle, bite, claw and run off.

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