It’s not surprising there is some fatigue;

Far away lands of which we know not much

Soon regress once the novelty wears off

And the front page headlines have moved elsewhere.

There was that time, of course; Ukraine became

Everyone’s second-favourite country.

Top people swaggered in yellow and blue

And excited queues welcomed the displaced.

It couldn’t last. The ha...

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Quick scribble. I just want to be the squirrel in the tree outside my window today. I've had enough. 

Up and down the Ash trees,

Round and round they go,

Unaware, oblivious,

Of these troubles that we know,

No Coronavirus seeping,

Through their very roots,

Dampening their daily walks,

Or tarnishing their fruits,

No handwashing,

Isolating,

Searing, hurting longi...

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This morning’s glorious golden hour

On this day, leaves me cold.

The sweet dawn chorus lingers on

No joys to me unfold.

No light or beauty penetrates

The fog within my head.

Become so numb, I can but wait

In longing, for my bed.

For National Poetry Month 3rd April 2019 – prompt from IG @tristameer “use the word ‘golden’ in a poem”.

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LET SLEEP COMETH

Around and around the sad and dreary night spins

in my tortured world full of wakefulness.

It’s the same every time, unable to fall off the edge

into oblivion and peaceful sleep.

I feel so heavy with fatigue, like my limbs are weighted with lead,

the tablets I had an hour ago haven’t worked so what must I do now?

Suicide would be an answe...

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