Rain tined skylight
frozen, strip searched tree
buds hardened, his mistake
her excuse, it happens
blue mirrored, light angled
hard winter, edged spring
Earth spins, all bets on again.
Tag: Saturday Shorts
Saturday Shorts – Borderline Control
Welcome to the UK
walk straight in
you’ve got a piece of paper
wipe your arse with it
have a good weekend
Saturday Shorts – Leaking Mind
He’s a miserable old fart
with his melancholic prose
well he can be let’s not beat
about the bush yet sometimes
there’s a touch of something
a poetic hook no you don’t see
to be honest neither does he
a take on words a leaking mind
incontinence now that’s not kind
Saturday Shorts – Two Faced
Can’t find a photograph
that shows me as I am
no lens can see as I do
your eyes don’t either
Saturday Shorts – Slowly Once Perceived
Its passing felt by ache
by loss none can evade
by turn of wrist we watch
as allotted seconds spin
Its edge forward speeds
yet slowly once perceived
microwaves beep display
show time as ‘End’
Saturday Shorts – Hands~Face~Isosceles
Touch you
Wash your hands
And this
I’ll handle it
Twenty seconds
Long enough
On your back
No on top
Head first
Can’t speak
Window open
Keep it down
You’re joking
Noise
Right angle
Bend knees
Triangle
Two feet above toes
Isosceles
Dirty talk
Mouthwash
Me too
Saturday Shorts – Good Fit
He’s all right angles
she reset his square
bent his straight till
a good fit to her curves
Saturday Shorts – Misdiagnosed
‘I feel the same as you do’
‘What – I’m nauseating you too!’
Saturday Shorts – Lines alone together
Talking to himself – can’t get a word in else.
#
This love thing, so many words – ‘I love you’ never heard.
#
She did things with so many – he did the same with few.
#
Her want, sophistication – her need, the rough of him.
Saturday Shorts – Long Lane
Weather mild a rare blue sky
clock change day car radio said
no hurry well a bit maybe
this lane not one he often used
Narrow quite bendy too
passing places a squeeze through
strange no cars seen either way
probably it was just his day
All clear it seemed ahead
rear view mirror given a check
eyes front swerved right then left
an old lady from nowhere stepped
He’d swear she’d just appeared
no movement just a vacant stare
grey clad from head to foot
of this age no way that look
Drove on his head turned back
no sign gone as quick as that
cold sweat his heart beat fast
foot to pedal scared disturbed
That week the local paper lead
ghost of Long Lane seen again
old men rubbed their chins
recalled stories of minds taken