Monthly Archives: March 2020

The gods play April fool jokes

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This may work better as a prose poem eventually. It still needs work, but I wanted to post it before April 1st.
What new pranks will the gods play
this coming all fools’ day?
.
 
Will they let us dream
that the stream 
of normal life flows on
gently ripples in the sun
the floods have receded
our gardens are seeded
winds quieten to a breeze
singing in the leafy trees
birds’ eggs in the nest
sweet refreshing rest
 
When we are lulled
and our senses are dulled
will they tighten the string
like an overwrought spring
and pull back their bow arm
to let loose some new harm?

The world outside

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We hear a woodpecker drum
and give its raffle call.
On the warm grass butterflies
settle to soak the sun’s warmth
– peacock, comma, brimstone.
The sky glows clear,
and, by a small lake,
blackthorn is blossoming.
The fierce east wind has dropped.
It should be perfect.

A leader speaks…(from prompts)

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we used to paint the town deep red
but now we paint it black
It hides the things we should have said
so that they don’t come back
to haunt us in the future days of 
deep and dark reflection
we may regret our previous ways of
random loose selection
 
we need to keep together guys
and bury deep the past
lest people see through spin and lies
and hold us wrong at last
where obfuscation held the throne
and steamed up all the glass
we’ll try to do it on our own
or worse may come to pass.
The prompts – used loosely in places.
Painting black

Random selection

Working together

Rumour and lies

Clear window

Isolation

Bridge 61 (version 2)

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his hair was white
his beard was long
his arms and legs as carved from wood
he sipped his pint
and read the news
beside the rainbow bridge
Bridge 61, with the name Rainbow Bridge on it, is on the Grand Union Canal at the foot of Foxton Locks, near Market Harborough. It is also the name of the canalside pub and cafe. This man was one of the boating characters I saw when we stopped for lunch.

A sonnet for our times

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entertaining myself by using iambic pentameter, and rhyme, from prompts.
When life just seems to be a lonely gig
Companionship and love may ease the way
Yet words like those turn hollow as we dig
And our self image changes day by day
We’re often sucked in by the myths we seek
to feed our ego’s ever-hungry maw
or salve the wounds inflicted by the week
and panic buy those goods that we can store
Our public words will show a noble face
of course we try to keep each other safe
though in the end all comes back to the self
do you have pasta, pulses, rice and flour
supplies out there are dwindling by the hour
so hurry folks, beware the empty shelf.
Hollow words

Solo journey

Altered image

Feeding the myth

Panic buying

Empty shelf

What next? (from prompts)

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the weeks have brought an alteration
in the garments of time
our fabric has been torn to ribbons
by unplanned events
we’re not sure how to repair
how to zip it up against the harsh winds
 
Can it be solved by a strut along the catwalk
nipping  in the waist, starving ourselves of news?
is the world wearing a brand new face? 
and is it better or worse than the last?

 

From prompts

An alteration 

Torn to ribbons

Zipped up

Fashion walk

Nip an tuck

A brand new face

Coming to terms (from prompts 06.03.20)

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our life is far from perfect
but we don’t count the days
nor try to break our chains and fly away
 
our perceptions of ourselves have shifted with the years
and the ancient footpaths across the landscape of time
are easier to follow now.
The old days of hacking through the jungle with machetes
forging new ways of living are less beguiling now
 
the grim reaper lies in wait
and “coming, ready or not”
we cannot hide forever.
Prompts:
Far from perfect

Counting the days

Breaking the chain

Reflections of ourselves

Ancient footpaths

Ready or not