Melancholium

(A daydream really and not a lot more, brought to life in sporadic images).

A creased and discarded tarot card,
the litter swirling through the museum of my life,
of unfulfilled hopes, failed wishes and whimsy dreams,
lain heavy, sodden, undisturbed as silt in the depths of memory,
await the callous prod of apathy’s endless benign ache
that, like the phantom of matters past,
serves to churn old thoughts and memories.
The hazy characters, some on brittle plinths,
more in dusty sheets or smeared glass frames,
offer me one further glance of meagre recognition,
then fade as swiftly as they came,
each with their shared ambivalent frown,
If only………

© Graham Sherwood 7/2010

Cotswolds Tale

(The epitome of the English idyll, but sadly full of American tourists).

And I came upon Arcadia, the
burnished mellow honeyed stones,
along the fosse meridian,
where sleepy chippings bid me rest,
amongst the woollen churches shade,
to nibble scones with China tea
and marvel at the charming wolds,
where now, the fleeces wear pink rinses
and bleat in sundry foreign drawls.

© Graham Sherwood 7/2010