Napowrimo – sometimes it’s ok to let go

27 Apr

You see it all the time in movies
Person A dangles from rooftop/window/mountainside
Prevented from falling only
By the fingertips of Person B

Well, here we are
Except Person A is a self-inflicted challenge
And Person B is me
Or is it the other way round

My arms hurt
And that look in your eyes tells me
That sometimes it’s ok
To let go

Or just maybe
Your look is one of hope and faith
That somehow we’ll get through this
Together

Frankly
I prefer my first interpretation
I’m sorry…

Day 17 of napowrimo (late) – Notturno

20 Apr

Notturno, Notturno
Wherefore art thou, Notturno?
Your stars of many aeons
Lights halogen and neon
Obscure from our view
Whiteness suffuses
Exposes your mysteries
Sending nature screwy
And keeping me from sleep.

Day 16 of napowrimo (late) – note to self haiku

20 Apr

Dearie, dearie me,
Next time, turn the oven off
Yours sincerely, me

Day 15 of napowrimo (late) – for Uncle Paul

19 Apr

I remember him running, almost bent double, suit jacket flapping behind him
Looking like a mallard trying to fly, Uncle Paul chased the football
Overdressed as always for a summer day of playing in the park, sweat ran in rivers down his face
He lived for games, did Uncle Paul; football, cricket, darts, cards…
He had an Atari console – the first I ever saw, and he let us play on Space Invaders

Uncle Paul lived with grandma and grandad. Their massive dog Gemma ran him ragged.
He was of very slight build and I only noticed how short he was as I grew so much taller
In many ways, Uncle Paul was only halfway here and as the games receded, so did he
His hip gave out; he couldn’t run any more. Grandma’s death broke his heart
Grandad couldn’t look after him, so Uncle Paul went to live in a home.

Games and summer running were replaced by drinking and falling over
Every time I saw him he looked smaller, but the intensity in his eyes remained
His voice was hoarse, his laugh high-pitched, his legs even bonier now under a blanket somewhere
Grandad died and Uncle Paul receded ’til you wouldn’t have thought a person could recede any more
Then yesterday Uncle Paul died.
I haven’t seen him for years.

Day 14 of napowrimo – still late: Apple

18 Apr

It’s like that film, ‘Shallow Hal’
But you’re a fruit, not a Paltrow
A beautiful ripe apple
(or so it would appear)
Sitting in my desk drawer
Behind biscuits, under crisps
An option doubtless healthier
(or so it would appear)

I cannot resist

I bite through the flawless skin
My open mouth, juice flows in
My tastebuds reach, yeeeearning…
Recoil! Foetid liquid!
My tongue flails like a giant squid
Shot by Captain Nemo
NO! NO! NO!
Must not swallow! Must not swallow!

Too late

My gullet gags, my belly bucks
To make the fruit regurgitant!
Is that a word? I don’t care
Just get this mouthrot out of here!
Intestines clench in mortal fear
Get this gutrot out of here!
I’m going to die if I don’t rinse
Like Snow White sans her gallant prince

It’s over

Day 13 of napowrimo (very late) – Pigeon, you’re alright

18 Apr

Pigeon, you’re a bastard
With your noisy flappy flying
And your streams of white guano
But, I tell you pigeon – you’re alright

At Christmas, folk like robins
Not you weighing down their fence
(Although your mass is nominal
Or I don’t see how you’d never get in flight)

You’re the scourge of the twitcher
Waiting with binoculars
For the rare peppered peewit
When your grey, cooing arse hoves into sight

Although it might just be
That I identify with you
And your unregarded beauty
I have to tell you pigeon – you’re alright.

Day 12 of napowrimo (late again!) – Wall

14 Apr

I wail at the wall we’ve woven between us
But buffers long-learned prevent you
From hearing me here, tearing my hair
Wishing we would wash it away
I know it’s been a while
But maybe if we really tried
To forget we’re tired
We could turn the tide
And blow this shit away
Start over again