Stones

February 4, 2017 at 3:08 pm (history, Poems, Stories) (, , , , , , , , )

He brought down the axe
on those prehistoric stones
that had regally edged his flower bed
public and permanent
undisputed leave to rule granted,
planted, for centuries.

Meaning to smash those stones,
dash them down to size
despising their indestructible
smooth confidence, since
his lay shattered,
he refused to be thwarted by disease,
disappointment and a blunt axe.

Raising his game he brought to bear
great anger and frustration,
torn muscles and brittle bones
screaming, tears streaming in rivers
past slivers of stone,
whilst they remained, undiminished
taking pain without complaint.

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Winter Chill

November 27, 2012 at 9:31 am (humour, literature, philosophy, poetry, Stories) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The grandfather clock coughs

and then they are all at it,

armchairs belch their stuffing,

tables drop all their leaves, cushions deflate.

.

The radiator complains of a temperature;

the bed winces when I lie on it, so

I perch near the moaning fish tank

watching eczema paint peel from sore throat walls.

.

Later, I grab my guitar, but it winges and slides

out of tune with the day,

offending the aching ears of the television

which begs me to turn the sound down

real low.

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