What next? (from prompts)

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

Lessons from Granny

The more you know, my granny said …

I guess you know how that ends.

She was full of truisms

Words to live with

Like the infant teacher she once was.

But did I take note? Little enough.

On a good day

My head was in the clouds

I thought I was better

I could work it out

From zero,

Tabula rasa,

A blank sheet ready for the words of life

and yet …she taught me where the flowers grow,

Hidden in the hedge bottoms,

Shyly in the woods, or openly in the fields

Then with garden and birdtable

Awoke me to urban wildlife

encouraged patience in watching and waiting

Not all learning comes from books

Or word of mouth,

Some osmosis is at work

Outwitting child-like arrogance.

The prompts:

The more you know

All good things

Head in the clouds

Where the flowers grow

Urban wildlife 

Word of mouth

Aftermath

We wake and there
across the pathway to tomorrow
– the relaxed outline of a dead cat.

The sweet scent of rot
once barely noticed
is growing to a stench.

Something we have to deal with
before life can proceed
seems we need to clear the path
of political corpses
or maybe zombies
playing a longer game?

La Strada 2015

I coast downhill on a pushbike
wind in my face.
Behind me
the sound of an engine

A couple in an open car
scarves round their heads
passenger perusing paper.

Two cyclists pedal uphill
with a wave.

A vintage car passes
shiny, square and black.

In the sky I see
a light aircraft.

Am I dreaming
or am I in a black and white film
Italy, circa 1950?

No – just a treasure hunt, i guess.

Magus in the Park

A hot day in London
a shady cafe in the park
an expounder
in a Weird Fish jacket
projects his voice
to his quieter companion.

It’s all about karma
or planetary influences
and how to know her ideal man.
She nods and murmurs
in the face of his persistent
see-what-I-know grin.

At intervals this modern magus
refers to his smartphone
reads out a sentence or two
and elaborates, expostulates,
in love with the mystic spheres
and his acquiescent companion
but mostly with the sound
of his own voice.

Cafe conversation

we order and find a table
in the cramped café
a woman at the next table catches my eye
holds out a photograph

this is my cat,
he’s not a tabby
he’s a Bengal cat

he lies on a red cushion,
large, lithe and handsome

Nice one, I say
you sure he’s not a tiger?

I used to have two dogs
lost them in two months
one was twenty
the other pined away

Cats are easier, I say.

While we two eat we talk
of books and films and politics and life . . .

When I had a stroke,
they said I needed something to love

I nod, good idea.

Yesterday I found four cats in the house
all asleep – he lets them in

I say, careful, you’ll be infested with cats,

I’m getting an award on the 20 th
40 years with British Legion
It’s something to be proud of

We agree, but say no more –
I’m not too keen on stuff to do with wars

when she leaves
she says

thank you for talking to me