Looking back,
corridors
of my mind
are lined with
all of the
people
I have known
at length
or briefly,
and I can
see again,
like an old
movie, with
pleasure or
pain, in whole
films or
single frames,
all of their
faces as
they once were.
Category: poetry
Pointless
We all spend
our lives now
trying not
to become
data points
on a graph.
Lifting veils
The process
of ageing
is one of
lifting the
veils, one by
one, that hide
the number
of stupid
people
in the world,
until you
see clearly
the horror,
then you die.
Excavations
Fragments of
time just keep
emerging
from my brain
like finds from
archaeo-
logical
digs brought to
the surface
for study.
I turn them
over in
my mind’s eye
but they seem
to form no
pattern, no
clues to a
lost dark age.
Point of view
I hate the
sound of a
rabbit, at
night, screaming
in the jaws
of a fox.
But I can’t
hear the fox
cubs crying
with hunger.
Losers
The sign at the
Supermarket
checkout proudly
said “new winners
every day”,
which is a much
better deal than
we all get at
the Life checkout.
Dustbin
I am as
certain of the
non-existence
of a god
as I am of the
non-existence
of mermaids,
werewolves,
goblins,
yowies,
easter bunnies,
pixies,
bunyips,
jack frost,
unicorns,
yetis,
tooth fairies,
minotaur,
leprechauns,
father xmas,
nessie,
gorgons,
poltergeists,
dragons,
aliens,
and ghosts.
Payment due
Writing a
memoir is
a life’s work.
It has to
be earned
by the lines
of your face,
the wrinkles
of your hands,
the night fears
of your sleep,
the weariness
of your brain,
the failing of
your body,
and finished
just in time.
Happy to see you
The Choughs
are back
doing some
gardening for
me, and the
sight of their
ungainly walk
and their happy
family warms
the cockles of
my cold winter
heart.
Falling down
Once I saw
on the ground
under trees
blue fragments
of a small
egg. But were
they from an
egg that fell
or one that
had hatched?
I didn’t
know just what
I should feel.
