Poem

In Shadow of the Sun

Sometimes I am struck by the sheer futility of it all

Crossing out days in the calendar as if they were nothing

Allowing the sands of time to slip away

Watching the rising and setting of the sun

Knowing that in each lost day drowns a moment

An imagined space in fate forfeited, passed over

 

Some days there is anger, a hope that it will soon be over

A growing sadness that encourages me to leave it all

To walk away and seize the moment

But the fear of uncertainty, of being left with nothing

To be naked to elements, left to dry in the sun

These thoughts restrain me, stop me running away

 

Instead I walk a precarious line; he’d rather look away

Never wanting to face that its over

Seeing us as youngsters, playing in the sun

Willing to deny the truth, trying to forget it all

Attempting to believe the agitation is nothing

Not allowing emotion, not for a moment.

 

But it’s true, we are here in this moment

I still haven’t given anything away

Even at this juncture, I offer nothing

Except silent acknowledgement it’s over

I can offer no comfort at all

For I am every evil under the sun

 

I contemplate this in bed, awaiting the rising of the sun

My mind a kinetoscope, replaying every moment

Squeezing life from every last memory, I drink them all

Chasing down fragments, not allowing any to slip away

Nailing down reason, trawling through thoughts over and over

Torturing feelings to confirm there is nothing

 

Nothing more to hold me, no person, no thing

Save the inexplicable guilt of hurting a mothers son

My head so thick and weary, as though harbouring a hangover

Could it be my courage finally gathers momentum?

I should vault the bandwagon straightaway

To hell with my wherewithal

 

Who cares if I have nothing, I’d be open to it all

Then when my life expires, they can talk of this moment

And extol, I didn’t let the sun settle and let myself slip away

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Waiting room blues

It’s the smell of it…
Bleach and anti tobacco air freshener
Wafting under unplucked nostrils
Encouraging sneezes to dole out lurghee

From the middle aged man in the black cotton suit
shuffling uncomfortably
To the crazy bag lady from number forty three
Still hollering at the receptionist for losing her forms

It takes all sorts

They wander in
and out of this hive of necessity
Swaddled in winter clothes to stave off the cold
Even though its twenty degrees outside
Yet little good it does them
When seated in the cramped sweat box of a room
Accidentally being coughed on by pensioners
And touched by sticky fingers
stretched out from ridiculously large pushchairs
Tiny lungs piercing ear drums
A generic wince shared by all.

Gaming night: The Aftermath

‘I’ll leave you fighting your demons’
an irony that’s not wasted on me
The white grenache drips
from the lip of the bottle
as I shake the remnants
Careful not to waste a drop

We were once a ballad
you and I
a couple to be envied
So in sync and never apart
Out of choice though
Both yours and mine

Yet shared wine becomes solo
Minds working on differing levels
just as in games
We each fight our own battles
but standing apart
Different platforms – different worlds

‘It doesn’t matter’ you persist
We share the same space
Yet I have never felt further
from you – from the truth
I am more aligned with this bottle
Once filled with joy – now just an empty husk

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