Insomnia

Insomnia by Sarah Park

Insomnia

Until tonight, I always found that beds, any beds would set me free,
Ev’ry nudge and ev’ry sound could not breach my security –
But here I lie awake, so wide awake, so pointlessly unresting
Perhaps I ought to take a break,
Fill up the kettle –
No coffee, though, please !
A morsel maybe to help me settle,
Though best lay off the cheese.
I always thought the night was full of creaks and banging pipes and stuff –
This house is eerily quiet when it speaks, not noisy enough !
The night and I both lie stock still,
Like the hush on the hill and the lull in the valley –
And yet, like me it also breathes…
But only one of us is keeping tally of the sleep the other thieves –
Adding up each stolen minute in my deficit of rest,
Ratchetting my stress as I know I’ll never get them back –
How long before I crack ?
Oh, to be falling into dreams,
To softly sink into its streams
To fall upon that netherworld where moonlight always beams.
But meanwhile…
The ticking of the alarm is not a friend,
Nor one I dare to silence –
Or how will I know when this Hell shall end ?
But the ticks just won’t shut up, even under the pillow
And then there’s the birds of dawn in the willow
That I always thought so pretty until this very morn.
And oh, here comes the headache –
So it’s back to the willow, it seems –
Though, hang on, does asp’rin keep you awake ?
Not that I’m exactly full of dreams right now,
Taking them on an empty stomach, too,
But anything to stop the throbbing in my brow.
Swallow them with the dregs of the wine –
Oh, it’ll be fine.
I’ll wash the glass since I’m here, as you do,
And spend a penny, I guess –
But if I’m getting up I might as well dress.
My thoughts spin round in my unsought leisure,
Till I’m sick of my company
And to think that sleep was once my pleasure –
How can it now be stumping me ?
I should be swimming through the deep of my mind,
Down and down, leave it all behind,
I used to find it all so easy,
One-two-three and off we go –
But tonight, there’s nobody home below.

The Sky’s the Limit

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The Sky’s the Limit

I hear they’ve found another Super-Earth
Around another star –
A bit bigger round the waist,
But still as rocky as we are.
The gravity is stronger,
So the mountains are all lower,
But there’s no reason at all
That some life is not a goer.
Maybe life much smarter
Than the likes us down here,
But life that never gets to cross
The endless void, I fear.
They, like us, can only run so fast,
Can only reach so high,
But they must drag a greater ball-and-chain
Before they fly.

You see, that could have been us,
Had the Earth and Mars collided
In the days before the days
Before the proto-cells divided.
Life could still arise
From the planetary ash,
But could never hope to reach the Moon
(If the Moon survived the crash).
Rockets can only burn so bright,
But the g-force rises, ev’ry thrust –
When you have to ride a nuke to fly,
You’ll orbit as a smear of dust.
That’s the price of gravity’s embrace –
We’re hers for keeping –
And she’s a hard mistress, gravity,
Possessive and unsleeping.

Except, of course, our planet is
Just small enough to jump and fly,
(Not that we have, we grounded individuals
Trapped beneath the sky).
But others of our species have,
And probes have sent our eyes to dance
With Jupiter and Mercury –
And all because we had the chance.
And when the Sun is old and red,
Then we’ll be gone to boldly go –
Yet till that day, we only get to dream
Of all we’ll never know.
We may be stranded in the well,
But we are safe and warm, all told –
I hear it’s very beautiful up there,
But oh, so cold…

Vanity

Vanity

“Van Go”, he said, thus mangling it
Quite in the American style –
Yet in the accent of a Brit,
From maybe Preston or Carlisle.
So natur’ly I had to cough
And stem this slovenly display –
“I think you’ll find it’s said ‘Van Goff’,
Misspoken in the English way.”

Too Fast

Too Fast

Pop tunes reckon that they haven’t got long,
So they splash their chorus in the first few bars –
They’re terrified of the fingers that skip,
They’ve got no time to take a trip.
The ear-economy for any song
Must reach us in shops and lobbies and cars –
There’s no slow build-up any more,
Just one-two-three, then four-to-the-floor.

Static

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Static

Ev’ry hour on ev’ry radio,
On ev’ry station, Beatles, Bach or Blues –
Upon the hour, come what may,
They force on us the news.

We come here for the music,
But we have to hear the gossip and the noise.
And even worse, the traffic, sport and weather –
What a buzzkill, boys !

And in an hour, then up it pops again –
Just the same with nothing changed, just comfort food.
Headlines full of factoids – got no time,
Yet long enough to wreck the mood.

I don’t mind DJ chat –
At least a human’s in the process somewhere –
But this sounds like an algorithm
Padding out the wavelengths, filling up the air.

Well I’m no luddites, I can read the papers –
Keep abreast as best I can.
I don’t need constant interruptions
Thinking I’ve got no attention span.

Give me a station full of talking,
But let’s keep the others where the music never stops –
No news is good news, so save it for the Albert Hall –
And the top of the hour for the top of the pops.

Challenging & Worthy

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Challenging & Worthy

Ballet, op’ra and poetry –
Loved by luvvies and the BBC
But otherwise ignored by all and quite right too.
Up their own arses, these brown-nose arts
Are permanent’ly trapped in a bubble of farts
Just like the upper-chattering classes talking poo.
Please, oh please, let me never be trendy,
Keep me away from the cognoscenti,
Shovelling tax-pounds into their bottomless troughs.
I’ll take my chance with the free-will market
Than crawling on my belly on a critic’s carpet –
They may be lefties, but trust me – they’re just a bunch of toffs.

Those Who Can’t

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Those Who Can’t

So you say you don’t like my fill-in-the-blank,
Well okay grandad, off you trot,
So you think my taste is ‘square’ and ‘rank’,
Well God bless you and off you trot,
And love what you love and leave what you don’t,
And tell what you will and spare what you won’t,
But if you can’t wait to gossip what you hate,
Well groovy, daddy-o, off you trot,
Don’t let me stop you, but hold on there,
Just let me work out how much I care
While I crank my fav’rit song upto ten –
WHAT’S THAT ? SAY WHAT ? COME AGEN ?
You were prob’ly calling it a ‘din’ and ‘rot’
Cos these days, whinging’s all you got –
So I guess you don’t like the whole ‘darn’ lot,
But don’t worry, geezer, off you trot.

Scanning the Last Words of Lines

Nothing to do with the poem, I just thought it a curious name for a nail-polish.

Scanning the Last Words of Lines

Street, white, hand, song – No rhymes there, best move along.
Roots, come, page, near – Shan’t be lurking long ’round here.
Found, sharp, luck, role –  Nothing there to lurch my soul.
Pen, sighed, when, tide – Go on then, I’ll take a ride.

A Wilful Child

A Young Girl Reading by Charlotte Weeks

A Wilful Child

Here comes Abigail,
Searching for the Holy Grail –
She looks for it in Mark and Luke,
She looks for it in John
But once she sees it’s all a fluke
She learns what’s going on.

Abigail, Abigail,
Making all the rabbis wail,
Making all the imams hush,
Making all the vicars blush.

Here comes Abigail,
Grabbing scripture by the tail –
Tearing through the Psalms and Acts,
Incase it’s all a con –
She’s chasing down elusive facts
To suss what’s going on.

Abigail, Abigail,
Making all the abbés quail,
Making all the prophets cry,
And simply by her asking “why ?”

Et Ego in Ego

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Et Ego in Ego

Poets: we’re never too subtle or shy –
We’re big on the drama, on even the small days.
The all-knowing pen of the all-seeing I,
In the first-person first, and last, and always.
With a couchful of angst and a sleeveful of heart,
We splinter all meaning, we trample all art –
For we are the masters of words,
And are well-worth the fuss.
Depend upon it, from old boy to upstart –
For all of our sonnets to lovers and birds,
Our verses are all about us.