Losing you

Your paper boat of a life embarks,
setting sail into the captive sea
of forgetful mist.
As you wave from the creaking rail,
those frown-crowned ripples of recognition,
blink ever more slowly as I stand to leave.
The signal horn of yet another year blasts,
as you slide away from anchorage
beneath a feeble bony wave.
I’ll linger on this bereft lonely quay,
and peer into your enveloping gloom
call out my name, it’s me, still here.

© Graham Sherwood 2009

Atheist's nightmare

Sorry did I wake you?
Oh! It’s you, but you’re……the accident,
Dead, yes I know, I’m sorry.
Sorry, what for?
That I won’t be around to look after you any more.
I hear you but I can’t see you properly.
I know, it’s just the way it is there,
I’m neither one thing nor the other for the minute,
everything is white, no shade, no form,
a sort of filled-in outline with no features.
Is it heaven then or the other place?
I don’t know yet, I haven’t been allowed inside,
it’s the system,
I just have time to make things right here,
Before I go, so to speak.
Can I touch you one last time then?
Well, only in the way that you can touch a light shower say,
or feel a breath on your neck.
How long can you stay for? Long?
No not really, only long enough to say
I love you, but you knew that,
more importantly
never forget me.
I’m sorry I’ve got to go
time’s up the bell is ringing.



Are you OK?
Yes of course, why?
You were ranting rarely last night,
and you slept right up to the alarm.
You kept saying I love you, I love you
and never to forget.
I hope you were dreaming about me

©Graham Sherwood 2009

Loose lines

Memories and un-forgiven promises
are graffiti drawn like abandoned conclusions
clinging to and leering from the shiny bricks
of yesterday’s youth.
As I spill my feelings like cold tea
into your clean sink
I feel sorrow for the mess
but don’t think to cleanse it.
We could have both died young
together, beautiful, exciting
with much love still to make.
Did you think me special, as I you?
I wonder.

© Graham Sherwood 2009

Mi-tunes are emotional

Bob Dylan makes me angry
Santana makes me sigh
Neil Young’s songs inspire me
Puccini makes me cry
Cohen’s words are magical
Vaughan Williams’s lark a gem
Nina Simone tugged my heartstrings
The Bonzo’s remember them?
America’s Sister Goldenhair
Mike Oldfield’s Ommadawn
The Moodies flew me into space
Donovan as you were born
Van the Man when he was young
Satchmo getting mellow
Be Good Tanyas heavenly
Springsteen that raucous fellow
The Four Tops when I met you
Miserere when my father died
Free for wailing guitar riffs
Arlo when I lied
So mi-tunes are emotional
Each one a fractured track
I could have lived another life
Without ever looking back

© Graham Sherwood 2009

Arab in my carpet

There’s an Arab in my carpet,
that no one else appears to see,
I catch his fearsome countenance,
when I sit down to pee.

This Taliban of the toilet,
robes of flowing powder blue
is hidden in the Wilton weave,
as I contemplate the view.

It’s fair to say he’s not always there,
perhaps he’s hiding in the Kush,
underneath the bog roll holder,
if I’m ever I’m in a rush.

I’ve been really rather worried,
and I know it’s not the norm,
to have visitors in the boogaloo,
when I start my desert storm.

However I know his days are numbered,
no matter what his evil wiles,
my last gasp push will flush him out,
I’m going to lay some tiles.

© Graham Sherwood 2009