Ten

PART I

Festering under the hopeless bedroom light, I slope

from the bed to open the curtains

A pigeon serenely surveys the street beneath him, whilst

a fox dives between hedgerows and skips up pathways on his way home

On the horizon, a suspicion, a promise of blue amidst the grey

PART I I

Released, I step outside and let the cold air rush in and fill my airways

Replacing the stale, sweaty odour of my semanal incarceration

feeling strong enough to venture forth

wanting to make the absolute most of it

I jump in the car, rev the engine and head straight to ASDA

Commuters

8am

trudging over tarmac

in metal carriages

trapped amongst the throng;

the squeeze and release of the giant accordian

that concertinas at junctions, lights

and roundabouts

Whose tune resonates

with the blaring of horns

blasted by the impatients

and the impotents

The ASSHOLES

as I like to call them.

5pm

We begin again

From the top

with a weary 1,2,3,4

Prisoners sporting leaden yolks,

harnessed to mortgages,

card repayments,

bills.

Forced into the dance

as the accordian repeats its tune

over and over

Ad infinitum

Peering over the wheel a lonely driver spots

a leaf, pirouetting

along the white line

that keeps us in our lanes

The wind lifting and releasing it

as it relishes the short burst of freedom

reserved for later life

before it is bedbound by rains

or trapped under a tyre

to turn to mulch

and disappear forever.

An ode to wine

I Chardonnay rely on it

but if I’m to be Sancerre

I Chianti get through Friday night

Sans un petit verre de Carménère

Instead of going off my Rioja

I delve into the Cabernet

Sometimes I think I might not

Most times I think Gamay

They say a glass or two is healthy

It may help us stay alive

and that’s certainly important

when you choose what to imbibe

From glugging Garganega

through quaffing Chenin Blanc

Slugging on a Sauvignon,

Gewürztraminer or Cinsault

Of all the beverages under heaven

the best are made from grapes

whether from Europe, the Americas

or the South African cape.

Once I’ve selected from a Malbec,

Syrah, Bordeaux or Grenache

Don’t hand me a mere gobletful

I’ll take the whole carafe

When I truly need to decompress

I’ve no time for sport or drugs

I revive myself with Pinotage

Glug after velvet glug

And in those finer moment

when life’s better than we expect

I pop the cork and celebrate

with Champagne, Cava, Sekt

In conclusion to this poem

whether the day’s good, bad or fine

Compatible with every mood…

Sweet, fluid, reliable WINE.

Blending in

After lunch, 

whilst sipping my regular tea,

I flicked through pages of social media

and chanced upon a picture 

of a vietnamese mossy frog

And boy did he look mossy,

gnarly, plush and green

I pondered how efficiently he’d blend

into the woodlands and the trees

How only the black dots of his eyes

may reveal his true location

If closed, he would disappear entirely

A wonderfully useful gift to be blessed with

unless you crave attention, like me

Live, breathe, exist

There’s a corner of my heart

that’s set aside for you

Getting there is simple

The directions take no trick of remembering

No complicated list of instructions

or traffic lights to cross

or left turns at roundabouts

or at the bridge, take a rights

that other suitors would have to contend with.

Your direct route to my heartzone

Live, breathe, exist

All the lies told all the time

What I love about brussel sprouts is their divisiveness

What I hate about birds is their body clock

What I love about drizzle is it’s refreshing light touch

What I hate about England is racism mislabelled as patriotism

What I love about Swindon is it’s run-down estates

What I hate about Westminster are all the lies told all the time by everybody

What I love about Emma is that I’ve known her so long I can read her like a book (and she me)

What I hate about Jacob is his detachment from our reality

What I hate about love is it’s parasitic quality

What I love about resentment is bitching sessions

What I hate about loneliness is mindless TV shows

What I love about you – everything

Failing but not failing

My aim this year is to post at least once a week. I have my phone alarm set for Sunday morning so that I definitely won’t forget and I haven’t needed it until now.

I didn’t really forget today. Here I am writing a few words but this is really just a box ticking exercise. A short few paragraphs just to say I did it. I apologise now for wasting your time.

What happened to disrupt my newly formed habit? Life, parenting and work. Since clocking off work on Friday evening I have got my hair done and that was me’time over by 6:30pm. My daughter had 3 ice hockey games, 1 training session and I drove over 300 miles to accomodate them.

I also spent about 10 hours preparing for 5 awards assemblies that I have to deliver at school tomorrow. I sorted through and ordered a pile of certificates that is in the region of 9 inches thick and also added all the names to powerpoint presentations. I finished at 8:30 tonight and my shoulders ache so bad from being hunched over my laptop.

Fingers crossed it all goes well tomorrow. I prepared enough but it’s school and odd or challenging things sometimes happen.

I have to go drink my tea and get some shut eye. At least I posted. Sorry it’s inane drivel.

Alligators

Last night I fought with alligators
while I lay sound asleep and dreaming
a dream in which I lived in a house
that was not my house
as it had a swamp for a back garden



Each time I let my little dog out to play
beady sets of eyes would appear
and one of those rough-skinned brutes
would rush and scoop her up in his jaws
and I would leap out and tussle with him (or her) to rescue her.


They showed no interest in the fine feline fur of my cats, they only wanted to feast on the dog.
But I wasn’t remotely afraid (because it was a dream) as I prized her from those terrible, snapping jaws. Over and over.
I showed those crusty beasts who’s boss.
And that I could stand up to any bully boy (or girl)
they were merely alligators

waiting for the boy to get home

because he’s always slightly later 

than he said he would be

and even though

he is a grown man now

he will always be my baby boy

always be a part of me

not so long ago,

he would rely on me

and needed me

but now he lives

with one foot out of the door

soon

he will be off living his own life

the way it should be, and i

will reflect on these nights, when i

laid there half awake, half asleep

awaiting the turn of his key in the door

and our standard conversation

‘good night?’

‘yeah’

‘LOVE you’

‘LOVE you’

and acknowledge what a privilege they were

Falling out

When you grow tired of someone;

when their actions enrage and annoy you,

are you the kind of person

who meets the issue head on?

Who worries not for the fireworks 

or potential destruction 

a heated or awkward conversation may cause.

Not shying away from the havoc,

because a moment of destruction

may pave the way for the rebuilding of something better and truer

Or do you simply go offgrid,

avoid real communication.

Do you sulk and stew?

Making only cursory replies until, one day

that person gives up on you and slips away

and you shrug it off as a sad but inevitable loss,

refusing to accept that the loss

may, in reality,  be yours.