ring ring
I no longer
answer the phone
though I sometime get up
just to check
the likelihood
the caller
wanting
me
Once (now)
There were things…
… no, there are things …
… of less, or more, importance than …
… the … … …
(definitive article always throws me)
… the the … vs. the a …
… without hindsight … is …
… a struggle … maybe the struggle …
… mankind suffers … over less …
… I struggle .. a the vs. the a …
… Bond on TV … IT IS IN FRENCH …
… WITHOUT … without … i.e not there …
… a subtitle to help / the subtitle could help …
… Je ne parle pas français !!!! …
… yet the a and the the …
… continue … to … enchant …
… these inept …
… rambling …
… at 32C and …
… counting …
Pilferage
Your words; naked
You; draped in black cloth
Your words; naked
You; with scythe swinging short
Your words; naked
You; taking that was not
Your words; naked
You; perish into dust
Spanner in the Works
Once upon a Spanner
The history repeats
We do again the things we did
When youth we were and did believe
Once upon an Inn
The history defeats
You do again the things you did
When youth you were and dreamed if it
Once upon a Works
The history goes chirp
They wonder not of that which was
When youth they were and comfort lost
Once upon a better world
History became the hurdle
We, You, They and the rest
No longer pondered youth
nor pleasures
Cinnamon Bun
It smells like home,
a cinnamon bun,
never overdone,
just right – spunge
With sugar on top,
special sweet crop,
cold milk tumbler,
the matching – stunning
It smells like home,
the wanting strong,
the cooking erring,
still longing for – home
Autumn wind
There were no dreams; growing up
I was the leaf; blown about by
an autumn wind; drifting free
yet shackled; restrictions imposed
unknowingly hampering
the dreaming; the purpose
of all
The day I stopped living
The day I stopped living
(*)(*)֦
~~
The day I stopped living
now faded
beyond memory
fragmented
horrors
stirring
The day I stopped living
the ghost came down
the attic clown
in clogs
slowly turning
mirrors cracking
my waltzing Matilda
a dutchess
in dreaming
The day I stopped living
I toppled
stirring
frowning down the
piper of Maris —
burning
Pockets full of sunshine
The only form poetry I write
is one that fits the pockets
of a wood —
overcoat
I dream of ice-skating
I think the frustration boiled down to either
A) it was 8.45pm and it was still +32C outside and the open windows did not help a damn bit, it wouldn’t get any colder today, fact
B) there was no time for the wine to chill before I opened the container, and lukewarm White is such a pleasure to consume, right
I reckon it is probably both plus the fact that I realised that learning a new language requires either sound proof walls or… Yeah that’s about it, repeating out loud on a bus or whilst walking down the road is just asking for trouble. Plus plus a fact I haven’t considered, maybe learning a new language through the means of a second language is a bad idea to start with.
So right now I picture frozen lakes at Christmas time, people on skates, a cold drink in my hand – covered by mittens.
(A|B)ware
I was not aware; no
the warning sign;(s)
well obscured; hidden
unsighted by choice
seemingly, lustless
dreams and longings
for goal yet lacking
the ball(s) to kick
the day would come
sooner than so; so
so written
among the leaves
scattered; so spoken
by those gone before me
so blatent
yet impervious my skin
filled of sin; and rotten
acorns
I was not aware; no
one day my steps
would shorten; the
pace; cadence actual
no longer matching
the thoughts driving
me forward; or back
undeniably
I was not aware; no
that one day I could
feel older
older than I actually
was
older than so and so
those word once spoken
though true
ultimately ignored and
all lessons to be learnt
once more
by living