Just another day

(The dichotomy of have and have-not).

Leafless tree branches seem to grab,
eagerly at the pinpricks of white light
once strung haphazardly, now buffeted
by an godless December squall.
Reflected in the slate pathways,
they are fallen stars,
smearing around our feet.
Through smoked glass,
brighter lights, colour, music,
it’s Christmas in there
but out here in the rain
it's just another day.



© Graham Sherwood 12/2014

Buffer

(The dying days of my long term relationship with TalkTalk).

I sit mesmerized
a white cog, spinning
on grey space
so I stare gormless, vacant.
I am surprised
it’s all I can do
with a million-and-one
other jobs queuing impatiently.
I wait,
the anticipation of roulette
cacophony of lottery balls
but I wait, holding breath.
My LAN is flashing
my dark-eyed LINK, lost
my world offline.
Jilted, disconnected.


© Graham Sherwood 12/2014

Reve-Elation

(Actual dream content).

There are people here,
I recognize them
but how I arrived I cannot explain.
Small birds skeet, wheel and soar around me
and for some reason, known to others,
I am holding two fishes,
that I have been asked to bring.
I become aware of pastoral music
changing pitch and rhythm,
breathing, a background atmosphere,
oppressive but gentle.
Young and beautiful,
a student passes by,
I ask her, “From where is your learning given”.
She indicates that she doesn’t know
but appears not to worry.
I notice that knowledge exudes from everywhere
In waves of curiosity, learning and warmth
and I need to understand it,
have to learn the code somehow.
A half-smiling man, a sensei
who will not shake my hand
directs me to a lift over which I have total command,
each floor a level of understanding,
encyclopaedic, with tableaux, lessons
and pamphlets that are also maps.
Spectral communications are delivered by the merest touch
I am filled with questions
but there is no one to answer
leaving me immersed.



© Graham Sherwood 12/2014

That Summer

(A rite of passage sort of thing).

O remember that rolling sunflower sea,
we saw each morning on waking
from the pigeonnier,
a golden ocean breaking on the timid lawn,
the black–faced waves expertly
frozen by the sunrise,
the crashing silence, deafening.


O remember that dawn you swam out
naked, amongst those golden waves,
pert breasts floating serenely
as you waved, hands aloft, then,
occasionally lost to view,
re-appearing here, then there
to tease my keening eyes.


O remember me, left forlorn on that shore,
the day you drifted further out
washed across that burnished horizon,
your final salute to maidenhood
leaving me to wait and pace
until the brilliant gold turned to green
and you were there no more.


© Graham Sherwood 12/2014

Spotlight

(The art of performance).

You take to this sparse stage
confidently,
a salmon leaping for its life,
flimsy worn paper notes
the bait that trapped you
into bearing your soul,
now held nonchalantly low,
a frown, a tremble, a gag,
as you unveil the inner you
to curious ears.
Will they get it?
What if you screw-up,
worse still corpse?
But you know the words are good,
they pull, they knick, they push, they lick, they kiss
the upturned dimmed faces below.
Wry smiles, agreeable nods, tears perhaps
and then unsure applause,
pops like the first splashes of a shower
meandering forwards row by row.
So back you go sated,
bus ticket in hand


© Graham Sherwood 12/2014

Koan on Eyes

(Zen and eye contact).

Across a scrubbed table
we surreptitiously appraise each other,
me with nutmeg wrinkled eyes
you, the most perfect blue in alabaster,
we shine
consider both our futures,
I envying your beautiful youth,
you, only my experience
we shine.


© Graham Sherwood 12/2014

Who knew?

(An observation on the Real people).

I'm going on a journey OMG
to a land of make believe -celebrity,
where tits are taut as tightropes
and bums rebound pound coins,
where pubic hair's a no-no, and
they Photoshop their loins,
where lips curve like bananas
and are painted vampire red,
so they leave a vivid tidemark
when the boys are getting head,
yes I'm going on a journey OMG.


Yes I'm going on this journey LOL
and I know that you're all feeling Well Jell,
but to be famous just like me
you must trend stupidity,
pout at cameras with your lip
right hand glued against your hip,
Iphone welded to your hand
Facebook about your gastric band,
get pissed without compunction
or pop a wardrobe malfunction
yes I'm going on this journey LOL.


I’m going on this journey FYI
and I have admit to feeling real sky-high,
I turned down celeb Big Brother
because they also asked my mother,
so I’m off to jungle capers
I’ve tweeted all the papers,
I’m cool with rats and ants
I’ve had worse inside my pants,
and my tits will get an airing
knowing you lot will be staring,
yes I’m going on this journey FYI.


I’ve been away on this long journey WTF
and met someone who’s now my BFF,
she’s famous for doing stuff
where she shows her bit of fluff,
and her idea of working, is
with her arsecheeks, it's called twerking,
I’m really pretty pissed, about
this craze I seem to’have missed
and now feel quite alone
back to being quite unknown
shit I shouldn’t have done that journey WTF



© Graham Sherwood 12/2014