Jaw-Jaw

Talk to me, lie to me, yell at me even,
Or swear all you like, I don’t mind.
Tell me of rumours you scarcely believe in,
Just don’t leave your tongue-bone behind.
Yabber all day in a language I can’t understand,
Or in words so pretentious and bland –
And if I ignore you, then talk to my hand,
With silences brailled and signed.

Chat with me, bitch at me, sing to me even,
Just never stay quiet for long.
If I still have ears, then you know I’m receiving,
However tight-lipped and headstrong.
Gabble at double-Dutch, pardon your French at me,
Prefixed and strong-verbed to argue and disagree,
Stutter and tut till I grunt my decree –
For only our silence is wrong.

The Slow Comedown

Here we are at last,
Upon the podium, as number one –
We may be shipping water fast,
But let’s enjoy our moment in the sun.

So here we are, complete,
With laurel wreaths on heads unbowed –
We may be dead upon our feet,
But let’s just grin and wave-out to the crowd.

So here we are, enthroned,
With medals hung and champagne sprayed –
We may be stumbling, leaden-boned,
But let’s not sleep and miss-out the parade.

So here we are, high noon,
With all our talent spent and flexed –
We may be all forgotten soon,
But let’s not worry now to what comes next.

Rough Night

I’m far too boring for parties like this –
I’d rather be reading a book in the corner.
I ought to mingle, but what should I say ?
If I could hear their replies, anyway.
But all around me are deep in bliss,
So what right have I to be a scorner ?
Force a smile, don’t bring them down,
And cross the room before I drown.
I came from a fear of loneliness,
But now I feel more lonely than ever.
Why does my silence feel like assault ?
And why does it feel like it’s all my fault ?
We’ve nothing in common but ev’ning dress –
We’re separately alone together.
Yet surely people like me exist ?
But they won’t be found at parties like this.

Buttons

How did ancients ever close their clothes,
Do you suppose,
Before the button was first threaded through the buttonhole ?
Metal hooks or bows ?  Who knows ?
But what its lacking shows
Is how quickly buttons sewed-up their control.
But over time they frayed,
As we fiddled, faffed, and flayed,
And went awol as their stitches face abuse –
They hold a fatal bug,
Where a simple careless tug
On a dangling string can let them on the loose.
It leaves their hole a void
Where they used to be employed –
Forever lost, when all their bindings are unspun.
But at least they’re silent grips,
Unlike the noisy velcro strips,
Or zips –
But one day soon, they’ll surely come undone…

Rivals

You do me wrong, you cad !
Egad !, I’ll snap your swagger stick.
I’ll pay-back ev’ry insult, lad,
And you’ll be glad I made it quick.
I’ll give you thirty licks, and then I’ll add
Another thirty more.
I’m wise to all your tricks, comrad,
And tell you this means war…
Don’t doubt me on that score, you rake,
You’ll soon be aching bad.
I’ll bring the hurt, make no mistake.
My words are iron clad.
I’ll bound you over, bounder !
You shall flounder on my spleen –
How dare that you imply that I
Am such a drama queen…

Undrunk

Alcohol is a stranger,
I’ve never imbibed in my life.
I’ve always found its taste so vile,
And thus, tea-total is my style.
Its power becomes a danger,
It can only lead me into strife –
I cling to a dry piety
To shield in safe sobriety.
Ev’ry drunken friend is proof –
It makes them far more sad than arty.
Their wasted health and gifts are crimes –
As I slyly wish for Temp’rance times.
But I cannot help but be aloof
As the only sober at the party –
I wasn’t meant for a hedonist –
Though part of me wonders, what have I missed ?

I am fully aware of the etymology of the idiom ‘tee-total’, and I have decided that I don’t give a toss.

Reckless

Brace yourself, cos here comes life,
Ignoring health and safety –
Where bending rules and brains is rife,
And favouring the hasty.
Sometimes, being stupid pays,
And consequences turn out flat –
If not tomorrow, then today,
And here today is where it’s at.
It isn’t good advice, of course,
To hope for freak results,
But ignorance can be a force,
When logic somersaults.
For sometimes chaos lurks beneath,
Ignoring all our careful sums –
So grit your loins and gird your teeth,
And take life as it comes.

Yes, it’s that time of the calendar when all we scribblers unable to draw even a stick-man are made to feel unworthy in the face of the wrist-flicking pencil-jockeys. But at least I can console myself in jotting down some words to accompany their sketches.

And for the first time, I have managed to write something for every day of the month. But this does mean that me usual Halloween-themed poems will have to share the days at the end of the month, giving you all double bubble.

And as with previous years, I’ll use it as an opportunity to display some artwork I’ve found that I enjoy, even though it sometimes has a rather tangental relationship with the poem beneath it.

A Most Spirited Turn of Play

“Catherine, who had nothing heroic about her, should prefer baseball.”

Northanger Abbey

Cath’rine Morland steps upto the plate,
And ties her bonnet tighter,
Swings her bat in practice, once, twice,
And holds her breath.
On the mount, she stares at Emma Dashwood,
Knuckles growing whiter,
Then turns to Fanny Price on first,
And knows it’s sudden death.
Behind, she hears the rustle come from
Lizzie Bennet’s morning dress,
As Marianna Dashwood stands at shortstop,
Fidgetting about.
And guarding third, Anne Elliot,
Her ringlets in a tangled mess,
From her recent diving catch
That had sent Mr Darcy out.
Now Emma’s winding up her pitch,
And Lizzie gives a little burst –
Intended to distract her –
Most unladylike, she notes.
But she hits the screwball to the Moon,
Flings down her bat, and runs to first –
Only to lose both game and poise
When she trips on her petticoats.

Of course, it’s a not all leisure in Jane Austen’s world…