A dove found dead with chest split open wide.
White feathers surround, heart lays still nearby.
Observing flies take leave once satisfied.
Returning crow, claims jewel for his bride.
Tag: poem
Roxy
With Eno zoned and Moog knobs turned up far,
Twiddles a bit and then gives Phil his cue.
Manzanera, bearded God on guitar,
Pedal effects, bends, vibrato he do.
Thus letting Bryan to focus on the show,
Trans-European accent, falls from lips.
With eyes sharpened, a lawn he could mow,
White tux white shirt, the sweet swing of his hips.
For me it’s ‘Stranded’, I rank as their best,
Both Phil and Andy, with our Bryan wrote.
Post Eno, sans glitter, synth, hairy chest,
They smashed it, forced some to ‘go get their coat’.
i repeat myself
I wonder of the last meaningful word I’ll utter, mutter,
perhaps merely think of, for that matter,
if I have lost the desire or ability to speak.
As a baby, I know for sure,
repetition formed my world.
Habits grew.
The least most era, spiked around my teens.
But since then, an ever decreasing and spiralling descent has closed in around me
with usage of the same words and phrases, the same dialogues and stories.
My time will come, when without realising I tell my own children,
of an episode I have told to them only a short while before.
I can imagine their patient faces.
Unless, I am able to do an unknown, unspecified thing about this now,
stop all this repeating
and say something new.
Rain
‘THE WETTEST AUGUST SINCE RECORDS BEGAN’ declared the banner,
Held aloft by the crazy man,
Walking the centre of the road,
In his plastic anorak, wellies, and nothing much else.
Sitting northwards of the jet-stream,
Great Britain took the rainfall,
Normally divided up between all of Europe’s lands.
Instead, the continent baked,
While the UK became sodden.
Experiencing precipitation,
For prolonged periods,
Every,
Single,
Day,
And night,
In August, 2017.
Her Finger Up My Nose
A tourist in town, quickly swiveled around. An arm extended upwards, pointing.
Before I could move, a finger went up my nose and my head tilted onto a 45 degree axis.
I reached onto tippy-toes to disengage, but slipped back down onto the soles of my feet.
The fit of the digit was snug, way better than any one of my own.
My arms swayed gently, while I waited for the expected withdrawal.
I hoped her finger was clean, it seemed to smell okay to me.
A look of shock had crossed her face, perplexed, she froze.
I remained impaled, until passersby assisted, lifting me free.
First Run in 5 Years
So,
I ran.
And I walked,
In between running.
It seemed a sensible thing.
…..
I did not absorb the natural surroundings.
I tried, but couldn’t fix my attention on sights or sounds.
My thoughts were focused on the present, when I’d next walk,
When I’d next run, looking for markers, that bench there,
A tree here, when this person walks past.
….
A mix of runners, walkers, lovers & friends.
Couples seated on benches, in quiet conversation.
Older, married couples, strolling in the morning sun.
Not so much conversation with them, I noted.
Enough has been said, over all the years.
…
Some muscles pulled gently,
I eased off in response.
Quickly felt tired,
30 mins,
Quit.
..
Until
Next week,
When I’ll try again,
Maybe only 30 minutes.
Slowly, but surely build up.
.
