Category Archives: January

Dissatisfaction guaranteed

Dissatisfaction guaranteed

Too cold,
too much rain.
Grass brown,
sunburn’s a pain.
Dashed hopes,
thwarted schemes.
Lost causes,
faded dreams.
Little won,
at great cost.
Spirits crushed,
much lost.
Peace rejected,
flames fanned.
Hearts broken,
souls damned.
Few successes,
many disasters.
Many servants,
few masters.
Many losers,
few winners.
Dishonest world,
sinners abound.
Goodness mocked,
no saints around.

Dear old Aunt Rant,
as she is known.
She just loves
a jolly good moan.


Under lock and key

Under lock and key

The door is heavy
and it is locked.
I have the key, the only key.
It hangs at all times
from a chain around my neck,
a cold iron weight.
What lies behind the door?
A small, dark room.
I know because
I have been inside.
So I know what
is kept in that room.
In fact, I put it there myself.
I made sure that
the door was stout,
the lock was sound
and I had the only key.
Never again will I
unlock the door, or
enter the room, or
examine what is kept there.
That is my firm intention.
Then why not
throw the key away?
After all, it does
weigh heavily upon my chest.
I dare not. I would not want
anyone to find the key
and unlock what
is best kept undisturbed.

To Lady P

Not posted much lately, down in the poetry doldrums I suppose. Anyway, here’s a love poem that’s nothing to do with the challenge (which I might have a go at).

To Lady P

I feel your heart in the warm breeze
I taste your lips in the soft rain
I see your eyes in the babbling brook
I feel your hands, oh how I feel your hands.

Your voice is the song of a thrush
Your breath the hot smell of earth
Your way with words way more than magical
Your hold over me the greatest mystery

If this is love, give me more, much more
take me to the edge of oblivion, cancel me
use your shaman power, swallow me
make me part of you. I want nothing more.
I want to love you utterly, to be loved utterly.
I am water in your hands. Do what you will.



Take a deep breath
as you float in the sunshine
on the glinting, heaving ocean,
swallow hard and turn turtle,
head below, heels in the air,
diving down into the deep,
away from the light,
through ever-darker shades of blue,
hallucinogenic shoals of tiny fish
(silver scales, scarlet fins)
parting at your approach,
flitting off with a
flick of multitudinous tails
to reveal the sea bed,
slow-motion waving weed
beckoning you into its
intoxicating but deadly world,
ear drums pounding, head ringing,
but before it’s too late
turn, kick, reach towards the light,
rising up out of the deep,
breaking the surface
in a rush of white,
back in fresh air,
taking a deep, deep breath.

sequence of events

The chopping board let out a sudden sigh and slid down the wall

tried to embrace a grapefruit resting near at hand

which did not feel like being hugged so it

rolled off the countertop, bowled across the floor,

attempted refuge under the fridge but, too fat to fit,

thumped against the fridge door, dislodging a magnet

which sent a storm of lists and vital dates and numbers

hailing down onto the kitchen tiles, waking from its nap

in sunshine on the windowsill the cat which hurtled

through the pot plants like a tiger bursting from the jungle

spattering leaves and compost round the sink and sending

plastic plant pots crack across the floor disturbing the dog

who gave in to its primeval urge to chase a fleeing cat,

raced round in yapping circles, hauling off the tablecloth

which brought a flood of water falling from the upset vase

that stood there full of flowers, and also hurled the china mugs

willy-nilly to the ground where they gave up the ghost

in a hundred jagged pieces, fetching the woman of the house

helter-skelter down the stairs to see what all the goings-on

were going on for but of course she skidded on the soil,

the broken china and the pools of  water, twisted a knee

beneath her, wrecked several ligaments before she collapsed

in a heap and the shock of her thundering fall was the last straw

for the chopping board balanced on the counter-edge

(which in any case was feeling rather left out now

by all the fracas and ding-donging that was happening below)

so it came judddering downwards, hit the poor woman on the head,

and that was that!




Last year the Old was the New,
next year the New will be the Old.
Seasons come and go, one by one,
ever-changing, on and on.
Buds, foliage, falling leaves, buds,
green to yellow to brown to green.
Birth, life, death, rebirth.
Down in the cemetery,
graves record the passing generations,
one to the next to the next.
Bright lettering on the newer stones,
older ones weathered, illegible.
Yew and I defiant, evergreen.