Mist-ical
Mist still holds a mystery,
There’s more to fog than we can see,
The very vapour seems alive,
A smoke-machine in overdrive.
We’re swimming through a pool of clouds,
In black-and-white and muted louds,
It turns the mundane to unknown –
And wraps me up, and me alone…
Day 10 – Mystical – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
Trickle-Down Economics
All Summer long,
We lapped-up sun on credit,
And splurged on shining days.
Was it so wrong
To hold-off raining-down debit
To scoop a deal on rays ?
We lived the thrill,
While we emptied out our lakes,
With not a thought to ‘ought to’.
But now the bill
Has sharply stamped the brakes,
And sent us underwater.
We sense the chill has come,
And we’ll be paying-back
For months or more,
Plus int’rest on the sum.
The skies are black,
And down they pour…
Morning Glory, 3AM
The night is still too warm, North of twenty –
Far too warm to sleep,
And through my open window, all the scents
Are on the rise.
The Moon is full enough, the curtains open,
Birds are yet to peep,
So I slip-on a tee-shirt, vaguely hoping
I can catch a prize.
In the kitchen, dregs of last night’s wine
Are worth a swig,
Then out into the garden, free of sunshine –
Less oppressing…
A hawkmoth buzzes audibly around the trumpets –
Wow, it’s big…
Now this is how Summer should be – less a slump,
And more a blessing.
The Frost Fairs
Once, when the Winter was colder,
And the Bridge more wall than hole,
So the River would stall and dawdle
Till the ice had won control.
And a brand new street through the heart of the city was born,
And paved in white,
Where the tents and the stalls and the elephant put their faith
In the Winter’s blight.
For days and days, as the ferries sat idle,
The waters were newly owned –
Though the surface was a rocky road of blocks
That creaked and groaned.
For the tide was never still,
Beneath this temporary town –
Till the breakup happened suddenly,
And dragged the slow ones down.
Yet for a week, the world was changed
For folks of ev’ry class,
As even in the bitter cold,
They’d promenade on mass.
But in the end, the thaw must come,
To even ice that’s strong –
And Midwinter festivities
Should not extend too long.
Midnight Flurry
Snow fall at night,
So crisp and white
Beneath the silent streetlight –
This won’t last.
It falls in hush,
And looks so lush,
Yet is tomorrow’s mush
That melts too fast.
A brand-new gown
Upon the town
That won’t be buttoned-down,
But be off-cast.
Let’s take the chance
For one more glance
At the velvet-soft expanse,
Before it’s passed.
Winter Lows
Ev’ry time the waves of tired
Leave me drained and uninspired,
The nagging fear I just can’t shake
Is will I ever get to feel awake ?
Ev’ry time a freeze sets in,
I shiver in my fragile skin,
And all that I can think of then,
Is will I ever be made warm agen ?
Afterpour
The mud is underfoot again,
The garden paths awash with grime –
But now the sky has stopped the rain,
It must be snail time.
The birds are nowhere to be seen,
The leaves are dripping from the lime –
And yet, the air is fresh and clean –
It must be snail time.
They come out of their hiding,
Sliding over puddles millimetres deep,
While wearing their umbrellas –
Soggy dwellers on their slow and silent sweep.
Where do they shade when the Sun is out ?
Where do they hunker in the drought ?,
While waiting for the showers
That empowers them to wake up from their sleep.
The worms are up upon the lawn,
The garden ants are on the climb,
The clouds are brightening, like dawn –
It must be snail time.
Wash Day
It’s raining outside my kitchen window,
And raining inside my washing machine.
The drizzle soaks as the drum turns slow,
Both giving their world a clean.
But the revs are building as the downpour splashes
And the glass is pelted by each,
Till the spinning thunders as the lightning crashes
With the white light bringing the bleach.
Till things settle down as we wait for the clunk
That unlocks both the door and the sky.
And the scent is fresh and freed from the funk,
As we hang them each out to dry.
Too Many Winks
Some nights, I swear I wake up far more tired
Than when I went to sleep
As if my dreaming mind is overfired
With all the thoughts that leap.
I blame the Moon, who’s too full and romantic,
Sending me his glow –
He makes my nightly visions so gigantic,
Putting on a show.
Some nights, I swear I live a year inside,
Upon my sweated bed.
All Summer long, with blinds and windows wide –
But nothing cools my head.
I blame the Moon, who’s far too round and bright
And keeps my slumbers stressed.
I need to hang some curtains, dim his light,
To get some proper rest.
Accessories at Large
To the gloves that leapt from my pocket,
To the brolly that stayed on the train –
You wanted freedom, so go out and rock it !
We never shall meet again.
I hope you’re not in the gutter,
Or locked in the lost-and-found –
For why should my loss be turned into clutter,
That benefits no-one around ?
I hope you are roaming distant lands,
Passed-on as your comfort spreads –
I hope you are warming worthier hands,
And sheltering fairer heads.
