The man next door is old.
I hear his toilet flushing.
I am relieved.
Author Archives: anotherarc
Jellies
Every time they felt nervous, they made jellies.
We soon ran out of bowls.
Fortunately, the bath was free.
Another Day
The light has come now
The birds parley,
as they do every day.
Drivers drive past,
driving to break the monotony
of another lonely day.
The light is lighter now
Two buses meet, the gap is narrow
One waits, the other passes
An orderly affair.
It’s lighter now
Sun seeps through the blinds
The first thistle sends it seeds to fly
A sycamore spins heedlessly to earth.
Clockwork
In the morning, they had breakfast
At lunchtime, they had lunch
In the afternoon, they had tea
At dinnertime, they had dinner.
That’s the way Senior Care Nurse Benson liked it.
Ivy
Ivy blocks the window
The world outside seems green
But I’m guessing it must be grey.
Times Past
Hope, an absorbent block
Addiction, a wobbly pudding
Aerosol, a strong feeling of happiness
Lightness without curves or bumps
Glads
The “small-flowered” class had its charm, if you were into that sort of thing. “Medium-flowered”, well you couldn’t dislike them as such. They were glads after all. But, for Warren, the only gladioli that truly earned their place on the show bench was the “large-flowered” class. None of that liberal-minded up to 10 open blooms allowed by less discerning judges of the small and medium classes. Each spike should have no more than seven open blooms at the base which completely cover the stem. The middle section, the flowers must show most colour but not be open. The top third, totally erect, is still in bud.
For Warren, this was the way that gladioli were meant to be.
Little Affairs
They’ve modelled it all wrong
The data’s not right
How will they know my R number
when I creep out at night.
I’ll creep down the alley,
then creep up the stairs.
Indulge myself in life’s
little affairs.
You Are Me
Who is that person talking to that other person?
I am the voice here! I did not give you permission to speak.
Don’t deceive yourself. There is no independent thought.
I, who can strike you dumb, then turn you to gibbering fool?
Why do I torment you so?
The answer is plain.
Because you are me.
Closed Curtains
I live in the dark word
behind closed curtains
The guilt of this small planet is too
hard for me to bear
The bright neon of shallow fame is
like fire to my eyes
The power of men (and women) falsely claimed
to run amok
(a mockery)
amongst the them’s and us’s
I am not the other,
but the other is clearly me.