Looking Out

The slate waters reflect
The ashen clouds that
Threaten colder days ahead,
That make joints ache.

A single goose, lost,
Apart from his flock,
Alone and forlorn, trudging
Along the shoreline, dejected.

The sun sets, silhouetting
Tree and building in
Triumphal blaze of red,
Tangerine and yellow sunfire.

An original poem – please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

A Bird In A Nest, From An Office Window

So snug, there in your woven home,
Your stick and grass dwelling, head and tail showing
As you protect and warm your clutch.
You seem alone, no other nests around,
And no mate bringing food or taking
Their turn of duties in your man’s world.

I could sit and watch you all day and
Observe your life’s routines and dramas.
I’d love to be there when your chicks
Crack their eggs open and chirp for life.
Ah… to be a bird, living such a simple
And instinctive life, only needing to
Worry about finding food and shelter.

An original poem – please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

Father’s Day

Sitting in my chair, cards strewn around
It makes me appreciate family and
To think upon those unfortunate ones:
The fathers whose children are not
In their lives any longer and those who
Yearn, year after year, for the situation
To warrant their receipt of such card.

As mine start to spoil the day with their
Incessant fighting and smarmy retorts
And my anger rises and voices raise,
Part of me feels guilt for my actions
Knowing that many wish they could
Be in my shoes for even an instant
And embrace the children, regardless.

Aye. Father’s Day, like so many others
Of the “Hallmark Holidays”, celebrates
One part of society whilst ignoring
The pain and hurt and rejection
Of those whose lives cause them
To live on the other sides of the fence,
Jealous, bitter and hateful of life’s turns.

An original poem – please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

Snowflakes

Thoughts on snowflakes whilst observing snow falling outside, through a window at work, January 2009.

They float aimlessly down.
Their cold, soft shapes,
light and airy, still
feel gravity’s inevitable pull.

They blanket the town,
fields or gray cityscapes,
making the nights tranquil
and the days playful.

The shovels noisily scrape
driveways, while the laughter
of children playing can
be heard all around.

An original poem – please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

Working Life?

Thoughts from a moment of introspection, February 2009.

Longing for release from this
Pergatorious existence, so well personified
by Sisyphus, as we tiredly toil
to complete futile jobs of work.

The hatred of the day sucks out
the life and inspiration of the night
only allowing a wish to crash and
sleep instead of conjuring lines of
inspiration or playing with the kids
who already receive too little attention.

The faceless drudging massed humanity
going to and from the place where they make,
what is named in comedic irony, their
living, dying little by little on their journeys
there and throughout the chores of the day,
clock watching and minute counting.

This will be the end of humanity – life ebbed
away until all that live are the fat cats
and the lucky ones living off the land in
self sustaining wonder, but also in fear of the
racing vermin that the rest of us have become
with our hollow eyes and souls, our hatred
of those above and jealousy of the foresighted few.

And so we long for the old days
when workers mattered and were
not expected to do the jobs of others
whilst they, our colleagues and brethren,
moved off to another place of pressurized,
conveyor belt working, where they
initially found life in their job, before
being returned to the familiar shells of
themselves, with little respect for their own work.

An original poem – please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

December Poem

A poem that attempts to encompass a typical month of December, as experienced at the 39th and 51st degrees of Latitude, North.

So here you are: the Solstice Month and
The time for the calendar’s death approaches.
Full of darkness, your ever shortening daylight
Hours are eroded down to a trifling nub,
Of use only to school children, dinner ladies
And other daytime part-timers.

The mercury bobbles around the point where
Water turns from cool, life giving liquid
To frigid, life denying solid whilst
The cold winds carrying rain and sleet
And snow that bites into each little spot
Of exposed flesh, like playful kittens’ teeth.

And yet you are such a joyous month too
As we, find it in us, no matter our beliefs,
With extra goodwill to all folk abound.
The bright lights of Christmas displays;
The Chanukah menorah; the Kwanzaa candles;
All three, and more, try to break your dark stranglehold.

An original poem – please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

Needing Sleep

Eyes, feeling dry and
cracked, like riverbeds
in a drought.

Throat, tight and swollen,
tonsils of rubber brushing
the gag reflex.

Heart, racing like a
locomotive’s engine at
full, unfettered speed.

Head, aching ever so
slightly, causing barely
perceptible dizziness.

Coffee, hot and sweet
bitter and biting,
yet pure delight.

An original poem – please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

The Entertainer

You enter the establishment and the cacophonous, almost disjointed, audible assault that hits you ensures that you know that The Entertainer is here, at your regular bookshop haunt, holding court in the coffee shop. You resolve yourself to make it through the experience, steeling your determination with every step you take towards the source of such auditory displeasure.

Finally, you are there at the counter, but today there is no time or inclination for any observant dealings with The Barista. Your transaction is impatient and rapid, as if one is a thief, stealing from a teller’s window.

Whilst waiting for your Arabica brew, you instinctively turn to watch him.

He stands there, looking all the part of the aging bachelor hippie. His hair, long and straight, hangs past his shoulders, lank and lifeless as if the strings of a well-used old mop have been teased to single strands and fashioned into a hairpiece. His graying, aged sneakers – old school plimsolls, of course – are proudly showing their age, though they are, undoubtedly, as comfortable as a pair of slippers to the wearer. His jeans and t-shirt also show signs of their stereotypical bachelor neglect, grungy and a little thin in places with a motif on the t-shirt that is twenty-something years old. But his eyes sparkle and his voice rings with the youthful exuberance of one who is enjoying and losing themselves as they indulge in a passion of their heart….

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This is (part of) an original piece. Please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

The Barista

There she stands, in all of her vernal glory. Her beauty brightening up an already well-illuminated evening. Her eyes draw in even the happily married, making them momentarily and silently wistful for the singularity of their youth, once more.

She smiles as she welcomes you and asks for your beverage of choice, her eyes twinkling with a happy sadness that you know comes from her thoughts that she would rather be out doing those things that twenty-something’s do on a Friday night.

She studies your face, as you contemplate the menu on the wall. She plays her little game. The same game she plays with all of them: studying; criticizing; commending.

Choices made, you turn the tables, amazed by how much you can take in and process in a couple of seconds. You like her youthful complexion, but not how her hair looks; her dark, sparkling eyes, but not the slight sneer of her lips….

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This is (part of) an original piece. Please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

Water Fountain

Inspired by a trip to the water fountain in work whilst particularly thirsty!

Gently I push upon your button.
You are quick to respond.
A soft sigh and your liquid
of life flows, easily enticing,
wanting the attention of my
mouth and lips, as I gently
consume your draught
refreshing me….

To enjoy the rest of this piece of creative writing, and more, please purchase Morning Meeting and other works (In My Words Vol. 1), available only on Amazon Kindle, for just $0.99!

This is (part of) an original piece. Please seek permission before reproducing in any way.