Betrayed by one
nestled on your arm
for so long,
whispering doubts and suggestions
that influenced everything
you believed.
Everything you wanted to be.
Is it wrong to still want it?
Or must you change all you know
because it proved false.
Fiction and poetry writing, recapturing the muse.
Betrayed by one
nestled on your arm
for so long,
whispering doubts and suggestions
that influenced everything
you believed.
Everything you wanted to be.
Is it wrong to still want it?
Or must you change all you know
because it proved false.
Time is everything
to create the perfect loaf,
to arrive when you’re needed,
to be what you’re supposed to be.
If you’re disjointed you’re
forever a disappointment,
lazy, wasting your life.
Perhaps time is the true God,
unrelenting, unforgiving,
unknowing of how it
effects us mere mortals.
Not caring.
Good Friday,
a day to panic buy
all the bread and cakes,
ready for a picnic that will be
ruined with rain and grumbling,
as always, but which is never expected.
Ask for later dates we can’t provide
because they don’t exist yet
and express disgust at the one day
everything will be closed,
becoming the biggest inconvenience
in your life, even though you’re
already here today.
Will your gathering be happy,
or is your mood given to everyone
outside of customer service too,
so even your family dread
seeing you walk towards them.
Finger rolls,
bread that names itself
wanting you to imagine
cannibalism as you slice it
open, butter its insides
and consume its soul,
without even contemplating
whose fingers you are devouring.
As you can probably guess from my last poem I have covid. I’m still allowed to go to work so I’m plodding on, but it has left my brain very muddled and I can’t really think of anything to write for today.
C and T
decorated with two lines
that announce your illness
of a disease that almost broke the world
but now is an annoying inconvenience,
not even worthy of a day off
or extra caution.
Frozen presence
forces us to stand still,
breathe, witness,
wait until heat can melt
away the stillness.
A moment to stop,
whether we have time to
or not.
Rehearsing words and accusations,
finding the perfect balance of stern
but respectful.
Over and over it circles in your head,
unable to sleep,
so that when the time comes
to act you’re too exhausted
to try anymore.
The telltale sign of yellow
confirms favouritism
and convenience is at play.
Thoughts of confrontation
cause a weary defeat,
knowing it will make
no difference.
Oi, you, come here
and be my scapegoat again.
Blaming the one actually
responsible is too much effort
and hard work.
With you I can just ignore any
protests and say my lecture
with no guilt,
because you’re not a real person,
right? Quiet people never are.
Sign this and take the blame,
then I can walk away whistling
for a job well done
while you are left an emotional
wreck, wondering why you bother.