Poetry Blog by ray pool (Mar 2020)

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"Ring a ring of roses

a pocket full of posies,

atishoo, atishoo,

we all fall down. "

What goes around, comes around.

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To the trashers, the spitters

phone snatchers, scam callers

acid throwers and other detritus

the streets are yours

we give them up

so that you can wander

baying under a sickly moon

and under the restless sun,

and by your shadows

may you be overrun.

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Out of the photograph

the family group stare with static pride

into my present which is inextricably linked.

My father, his father

cousin and her father

all in a sepia dream.l


Everyone dies of something, they seem to say

in their noble upright famililal way

and I smile back

finding a tiny chink in the armour of isolation.


There will be other times I know;


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Three score years and ten

then we begin again,

let's see:

discontinued life insurance cover,

doors held open,

serial nostalgia kicks in

expectation that life owes us.


A sense of drying out,

slowing down,

a feeling of disquieting superiority,

increased dependency on social media as a helpline.


Humour used as defence when available.

What made us laugh is...

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When love comes knocking

open your heart

let yourself in


quietly close the door

feel at home

for in that space

your life may begin.

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Stripping wallpaper, a mug's game

but fashions come back

and those old hoary pattern books

are bound to return.


Nothing is new under the sun

except more sun,

so off with the shirt

on with the stripper,

the bucket of goo.


Plumbline and ruler

we've all been there.

The fresh rolls and coffee await,

he who is bonkers

invariably conquers,

it's time to...

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