Sunday, 15 July 2018

Summer


1)

Starling squawks,
woodpigeon
cur-coo-coos,

sparrow cheeps,
song thrush sings
bee buzzes,

plane drones ‘cross
cloudless sky,
summer’s here! 


2)

Cloudless skies,
sweet mown grass,
sprinkler swish.

Lie with you,
cuddle in,
steal a kiss!  

Innocence,
happiness -
salad days!

3)

Barbeque:
steaks, chicken
sizzle spit,

odours waft,
fill the air.
Magic taste,

charcoal grilled,
tummy filled
Yum!  Yum!  Yum!

Anna :o]

Marion at Real Toads has us writing Tricube’s.  Each Tricube should have three syllables per line, three lines per stanza and three stanzas’ per poem.

So above is a little trio of them.          

Also shared with the good folk at Poets United.

Image:  Courtesy of Pexels

Wednesday, 11 July 2018

Running


World sleeps, almost silent now
but for the steady hum of city lights,
the echoing of footfalls of the running man
as he races through the city streets,
adrenaline pumped,
he rushes, he rushes.

He has ghosts here
that shadow him through each and every day
through each and every night, haunt his very being,
spark adrenaline flight,
heart pounding as he flees his awful fears,
and in terror as he runs away;
he rushes, he rushes.

He wishes she hadn’t been like that,
hadn’t made him want her oh so very much,
hadn’t sucked him in then spat him out
‘til there was nothing left but miserable.

He had never known he could think like that
be like that plan like that act like that,
revenge had been oh so bittersweet,
the thrill of when the knife went in
countered with ache the deep regret
of robbing life of one he once loved so dear,
the rue of watching blood spill out,
pooling neath her lifeless body.

He had left her there, litter in a city street,
she decomposing neath unseeing eyes,
back alley dead, a discarded ready meal for gnawing rats,
a bounty there for fox for dog for feral cats,
for gulls and multitudia of insecta.

The city has devoured her,
she has now become the city,
has him in her grip, his every thought is full of her,
she resides in him, 
hides ‘neath his paper-thin fragility,
pouncing out at will.

He wonders whether he should confess,
whether this would rid the guilt,
whether a certain kind of peace would come.
‘Til then, ‘til decision made,
fear guilt adrenaline sparked,
he rushes, he rushes,
he rushes to escape himself.

Anna :o]

Sumana’s prompt (cheers Sumana) at Poets United, of City, reminded me of a long forgotten draft of city rough sleepers who exist in our cities.  But a trawl through documents found nothing, so I guess I must have deleted it when the PC told me You Are Running Out Of Space!  So I decided to pull on (my own) memory, but my words morphed into something else.  Where it came from, I do not know.  

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Author:  Altoona Police Department/Medical Examiner

Saturday, 7 July 2018

Nag Nag Nag

Morning 1906, Clarence White (Fair Use, Public Domain)

Okay, so you’ve left me,
I can cope with that (or can I?).

But why leave all the mess,
the toilet seats up,
toothpaste spit in the sink,
curly pubes stuck in soap,  
dirty towels stuffed in cupboards,
and tidemarks ringing the bath –
it’s no wonder I nag you, no wonder I drink

I don’t know how I put up with you,
you dress like a tramp,
you stink of raw garlic,
snore like a pig
and your conversations a bore.

And now you have the cheek to leave me
saying you can’t stand me no more!
(Can’t stand me – I just don’t get that!)

Go then I said and damn you, you did!
You’ve gone and you’ve left me you garlic-breathed pig!
Damn you!  Damn you and damn you!
Damn you!
You’ll so regret leaving me
for I’m perfect you know!

Anna :o]

For Kerry’s Camera Flash prompt at Real Toads  – cheers Kerry!