Archive for January, 2015

Saturday, January 31st, 2015


M is for marmalade
The food of Kings
But the Queen this morning is feeling like something else
“I feel like something else,” she cries
There has to be some kind of compromise

Friday, January 30th, 2015


The ringing of the Angelus bell is a call to prayer and spreads goodwill to everyone. (That we might be made worthy of the promises of Christ.) What will today’s poem be “about”?

Thursday, January 29th, 2015


1. Don’t do the same thing twice
(at least, not so people will see)

2. Don’t do the same thing twice

Wednesday, January 28th, 2015


Pete is digging peat
out in the field with his wife
Betty is at the race track placing bets
(that’s not very “ladylike”)
John is a “John” (bad boy)

Tuesday, January 27th, 2015


Margie buys margarine
At the food shop
Carol is singing carols
But it’s not Christmas
Ted is gone hunting for bears

Monday, January 26th, 2015


As things stand all I can suggest as a solution to my quandary
is a dose of salts and more muttering to myself
as I decide which pyjamas to wear to the hospital later tonight.

Sunday, January 25th, 2015


When finally the hunt was called off and I returned to the fold
it was to be told everything had been a wild goose chase and based on
a misunderstanding of misinformation. Ever since, when I hear rain
beating on a window pane, I feel impelled to imagine what it would have been
like to be swaddled in blankets and cared for by someone who loved me.

Saturday, January 24th, 2015


I was thinking about a night it was a night like this or an evening and trying to figure out a way to prevent frivolity from asserting its perky influence into and among the rubbish of the dusty stockroom where I am planning to end my days alone and forgotten by all except bureaucrats and archivists.

Friday, January 23rd, 2015


I was thinking about a night it was a night like this or an evening sitting in the cave waiting for the next day the paintings on the walls were fading into invisibility as the light died and the candles cried out to be brought into play if I had been a painter I would have splattered a few words on to the walls but instead I chose to sit quietly at the mouth of the cave and stare into the night sky where the stars were hanging around as usual.

Thursday, January 22nd, 2015


It’s all fake. Those fake friendships.
Those fake smiles. The way when we go dancing
I fall over & there is never anyone there
To pick me up. Those fake appearances.