The official blog of Nessie A.W. Easton
‘Completely out of character‘ were the words
On the report which hastened its way
To her unsuspecting parents
That carmine afternoon when she strode up to Jimmy Randell
Curling her fingers into the compacted ball of a fist
Which doubled in size
With each determined step
Across the unsuspecting playground
Until she stood snarling before him
Raising that herculean fist, her arm
An iron lollipop stick
‘Leave my little brother alone’ she spat
As she slammed it into his stupid, gurning face.
I have long since lost my innocence, but how did it occur?
Was it way back in the ominous autumn of 1982
As I thrilled to Michael Jackson on MTV
Morphing into a werewolf and later a zombie
Requiring 4 decades to build the courage to sleep with the light off
Or perhaps it went AWOL in the summer of ‘84
When I caught the news that my dad routinely watched,
Telling of the skirmishes in the collieries up north
As I realised for the first time, that we don’t all get the same breaks
And that government motives were something to be suspicious of
Maybe it skipped out on me when I reached my teens
My best friend and I playing nervous with the boys at the park
They always wanted to hang out with us
but we were never good enough to be their girls
No matter how much dry-humping we endured.
Perhaps it was stolen by a lover twice my age
Who wasn’t blessed with the balls
To admit we were a thing
Though anyone around us with half a brain knew it
I may perchance have mislaid it
in the short spell socialising with angels
No matter how hard I think back
I can’t recall glimpsing a single halo
Blessed, as they were, with their own moral code
I think you get the idea
It slipped out when I was young
And now approaching forty-eight
It’s well and truly gone
On the first night I arrived in your home,
I nervously embraced you,
Learning the contours of the body you seem to feel so ashamed of.
Moulding myself to your soft beautiful curves,
Every day, I feel anger at the mirror that distorts them in your eyes
Ever since that night I have supported you
Absorbed the pressure and stress of each long day
As the moons waxed and waned, I have comforted you,
Dark therapy to relax a weary mind.
I have endured periods of abandonment,
borne your absence as you partied all night
Suffered the weight of intruders that you occasionally brought home
Looked the other way in embarrassment as you entertained them.
I never wanted to share you!
Ever reliable, always here eagerly awaiting your return,
I hold you when you’re sick
Cocoon you and protect you
I restore your power to face the day ahead
I’m always here for you
So why don’t you come to bed?
“Good morning”
“How’s it going?”
“Been up to much?”
“How’s you?”
“If you get bored, then message me”
“Have fun!”
“I see”
“Might do”
“Have a good time”
“Catch you later”
“Take care”
“Be good”
THUMBS UP
“I’m feeling bored”
“I’ve got the horn”
“You going to the pub?”
A thousand inane comments
Or silly quips all sent in jest
‘Most anything I say to you
Or simply “You’re the best!”
Clouds move as buffalo in a racing herd
In between we spy fleeting glimpses of the bright blue plane
Whilst neurotic aerials rock violently
Back and forth
Just one knock away from picking up the razor
and slicing deep into their veins.
Cheetah-like bin men sprint, chasing down their prey
some triumphantly ensnaring it in their grasps
Their dispondent, portly colleagues can do little but look on
feeling more than a pang of jealousy
and the soft burden of their own impotence
A tarpauline sheet,
bodyguard and protector of a rattan furniture suite.
has escaped the miseries of its 9-5
dancing a floaty ballet down the road
in celebration of its unexpected, early retirement
All this while we gaze upon the dance
from the small fortresses we call home
Through smeary windows we watch and wait.
Life paused.
Too afraid to join in with moves of our own.
I watch a lot of Spanish and European TV and film. They always seem to be a bit more saucy than our standard British fare. The naughty scenes portray more hunger, are more graphic and seem more urgent. That kind of inspired this poem. It’s not a topic I usually write about, nonetheless, I am pretty pleased with how this turned out.
The Gift
Carried through the door in a state of near delirium
Pausing a second to take stock before diving in
The uppermost coupling bonded
Plugged in
Unleashing the frenzied tearing at layers of unwanted wrapping
Living this joyous ritual in reverse
Hastily ripping them all away
to reveal the gift that lies beneath
The second coupling
Holding fast
Breathlessly examining each and every niche
Pervading all furrows
Hard drilling to mine the diamonds within
Tenderness can wait
Tenderness comes later
Clasping and grabbing at this moment
Consuming and exploring every each inch of flesh
Until we fill each other to the brim
Sated
Energy levels low
We lay suspended
Affixed
Succumbing to a wave of sleep
The weighted blanket of anticipation removed
We float
Contemplating a different reality
Who knows if Christmas will come again
Placing my foot on the familiar path
as I step out of my front door
I feel the first, juicy spots of rain smarting on my cheeks
With my usual tight schedule
I have no option
but to continue even with the rain
(another activity turned chore!)
As I walk, I breathe
one, two, one, two,
in and out,
step after step,
street after street
until with each passing stride
the rain relents a little
I pause for a moment to gaze at the flowers
I observe a bee taking rest on a bloom
I note the smiling song of the birds
from their high perches in the trees.
I amble on further
The rains eventually cease
Turning the corner back into my street,
the sun emerges, giving me a nod
and for those last few, glorious moments
she bathes me in her heat.
Today, I went to Costa
where I treated myself
to the most expensive drink on the menu
because it was free.
I was feeling flat and hoped
that this tiny extravagance
would lift my flagging spirits.
It didn’t!
It was quite tasty though.
It’s said that you can’t turn back time
I know that’s just not true
Get us all in the same room again
and the clock spins back to ’92.
Every one with our own journey
With different lives to lead
We don’t abide in each other’s pockets
There’s simply not the need
When we chance upon each other
When a friendly face walks through the door
A flame is reignited
that burns as bright as thirty years before
Some friendships last forever
Whilst others fall away
You gorgeous folk will stay with me,
I’m certain, ’til my dying day
I could hone in on this year’s shortcomings
How it wasn’t up to scratch
Like the year before and maybe next year too
But what would be the point of that?
I could rue events that were cancelled
All the things we had to miss
What would we gain from perusing
Such a long, depressing list?
Instead, I’ll shift the focus
and emphasise the good
Not obsess over what I couldn’t
but reflect on what I could
I awoke in a state of reasonable health
Every glorious morning
I got to view the moon arise each dusk
and the sun as day was dawning
At home we ate a wide array
of dishes and fine fare
Preparing meals of greater complexity
In the time that we had spare
I read great books and filled my brain
with knowledge and exciting stories
Encountering characters and personalities
None of whom were boring
I embarked upon a craft project
I knitted a patchwork blanket
This time, unlike previous years,
I actually managed to finish it
So, we didn’t visit different shores
or cross the surrounding seas
We took the time to explore the best
of this blessed country’s scenery
In summer, some festivals went ahead
The youth felt wild and free
Moshing in amongst this youthful crowd
Could be spotted aging me!
We held down jobs, brought in a wage,
Kept the roof above our heads
We nurtured and loved our children
made improvements to our homestead
Therefore, looking back on the year that’s passed
I grin and raise a toast
I see it exactly for what it was and know
I’m luckier than most.
Poetry for Dullards