The best poetry
happens when poets
know exactly what
they mean but
the reader
hasn’t a clue.
Tag: literature
Stayin’ alive
The older you
get the more
your focus shifts
from ambition
to survival
Dark stranger
Every New Year’s
Eve, we say to
ourselves – “Well
I hope next year
is better than this
year”. But, as every
New Year’s Day
rolls through the door,
we realise it was
probably
a forlorn hope
Thinking
There is, apparently
no brain, however
large, well adjusted,
fast thinking, packed
full of data, seemingly
logical, that it can’t
be turned into mush
by the acquisition of
an imaginary friend
I breathe, therefore I am
I am
breathing in,
breathing out,
like all the other
living creatures
sharing this planet
and this air.
But more,
that air has been
shared by all the creatures
who ever lived,
been refreshed by
all the plants
that ever grew,
since the beginning
of Earth time.
Each new breath
combines all the
old breaths of creatures,
and people, long gone.
Each breath is a kind
of immortality,
existing long after
each of us has
taken our last breath,
passed on to each of
us taking our
first breath
Losing their marbles
Heaven save me from
celebrities who seem
quite sane and
rational when young
but who in old age
become religious and
move hard right
politically and seem to
be mulling over joining
the Flat Earth Society
Hand on head instead?
What is it with
Americans putting
their hand on their
heart at solemn
occasions like the
funeral of an
ex-president?
They do know,
I suppose, that the
heart is just a lump
of muscle that
circulates blood?
I mean, we have known
for five hundred years
that the heart has
nothing to do with
emotions, so why
put your hand over it?
By any other name
Sometimes
a house is
just a house.
Sometimes it
is a home.
Home alone
When I was young
I was too embarrassed
to invite friends home,
thinking they would see
the old furniture, the
worn carpet, the odd
books, the unappealing
prints, the washing
on the old clothes line,
the unwashed dishes
in the coldwater sink.
It was only later in life
that I came to realise
everyone was embarrassed
in the same way, and,
more importantly, no one
noticed the flaws in your home.
In the same way other
people’s lives seem glamorous
exciting, sophisticated,
easy, planned, while your own
seems the reverse.
Only later do you see
that some people envy
you your life, failing
or ignoring, the bits
of it you find embarrassing.
If I had understood
these things much earlier
my social life as a child
would have been much richer.
Disappointment
How sad it is when
we discover that a
writer, an artist, an
actor, a musician,
whom we have admired
and enjoyed,
believes in an
imaginary friend.
