Poetry Blog by ray pool (Jun 2020)
We're all going down the plug hole
I thought for a minute it was a waterslide,
I wonder what's on the other side?
Might as well enjoy it
it ain't the cresta run,
with all the shit that's going down
not half as much fun.
Monday 22nd June 2020 5:21 pm
Layers of memory revived
like the clouds and steam
drifting in a journey behind glass
travelling as before
always in second class.
Savouring one last visit to the past
peppered with loving detail
of mad rail highway vistas
bound together by impending death
sharing one final wish fulfilment
like a last cigarette.
Then a ticket collecto...
Friday 19th June 2020 10:05 pm
First remove spending cap
apply "easing lockdown"
in small amounts
always read instructions.
In the case of reactions
adjust dose accordingly.
Side effects include euphoria,
dreams of tuck shops and wheezes
fever and sneezes.
Antidotes should always be to hand
for example further austerity.
Wednesday 17th June 2020 10:25 pm
A sea of masks greeted the opening of the abbey doors.
"What do you want?" asked the caretaker
from his dedicated scrubbing of the tiled floor.
"We're here to get the ashes of Kipling,
that jingo imperialist that lies below."
The sanctuary was sacrosanct,
but the threat seemed real enough.
A crowd cannot be easily swayed
and in they burst
with eyes ablaze and diggin...
Friday 12th June 2020 10:22 pm
When you wish upon a star
bear in mind the colour bar.
Anything your heart desires may bypass you.
Though your heart is in your dream
some requests are too extreme
when you wish upon a star
as dreamers do.
Fate is cruel
she brings to those who love
restrictions to their secret longing
like a bolt out of the blue
fate steps in to hinder you
Tuesday 9th June 2020 10:42 pm
My head swims with people
a shoal ever encroaching
blind with intent, unwinding
gentlemen's contracts unbinding.
My robot instincts disturbing
old tributes of touching
precious air now guarded
emotion's mesh retarded.
Survival chains us down,
nature's the elephant in the room
my body is a frail thing
a tiny voice dwindling.
Wednesday 3rd June 2020 8:58 pm
The Thames lay out of reach,
I cut through from the road
in Clark's sandals, short trousers,
past the backs of shadowed shanties on stilts.
Reaching up for an apple
fell into stingers and brambles,
defiant, disbelieving the pain.
Finally there was the river
framed by green arbours
fingers of willow draped low,
a flotilla of drifting blossom.
Monday 1st June 2020 12:39 pm