In The Middle of the Night

In the mid-
dull of the night
I lay
and listen to the rain
In this hot room
the sounds of splash
draw out my
slightly sighs again
Were you not here so
short-a-time-ago to
sweat with mine
The ticks
tock by
so bluh
dee slow
hammer out
such emp
tea time
Through this din of rain
and thunderous clocks
my thoughts
collect on you
I’m sure though
slow these days
will fly and
bring me close
in time to you

Milestones and workmen

It’s 1am on Monday morning and I sit here celebrating a grand blogging milestone (for a simple poet, that is)… Thank you to the 200 of you well-versed and glamorous fellow bloggers who have me pop up in your reader window.

Here is an impromptu poem to celebrate this frabjous day:

Milestones and Workmen

You waited all afternoon
A torrent raged in our street
All morning our frost damaged water pipe blew
Spewing fresh clean water
Gushing down drains
Tearing down alleys

You waited from 3 O’Clock this afternoon
You waited, stoically, on your phones

And as your jackhammer
Whirred into life
At 10.30 last night
As the cursing and hollaring of your busy crew grew
I knew this devotion to your job
Would inspire some Sunday night song

And in this once sleeping
(and sleep needy) estate
Great things were at work on our water supply
And a poet who would have been asleep
Was awake
Exploring a Wild World of Words
Lost in poetry

laptop screen and hands

[thanks again to all of you who support this kind of art and for creating your own worlds for my mind to visit. And of course to the men from Thames Water for sticking by me into the wee hours.]

Here is still

Even when the light is casting shadows
from my clocks and bedroom jewellery.

Here is still.
Now so late at night –
the morning shift has even started stirring.

Here is still.
Where the ceiling screens my eyes most rapturous thrills
and thrilling visions.

Here is still.
As these bombasted ears
pick each and every monster
to fit with every sound.

Here is still.
To be broken by all creaks
and coughs
and squeaks,
as all my world is stolen.

Here is still.
So still the shiny slide of slugs
attracts my senses.

Here is still.
And here lies my head,
furious with commotion
in the stillness of the night.