Summer's Lease

We were warned yesterday,
tomorrow will be the hottest of the year
and as docile supplicants,
we peel off our clothes
easily, like overripe fruit
sticky, vulgar,
already on the turn
and in this torpor, our satiety
flits briefly by,
shorter than a punch-line
leaving sweaty arses
pits and brows
to smoulder, leaking
passion by the pint.

© Graham Sherwood 07/2016

The Power and the Glorious

(the seamless movement of governmental responsibility).

Thus it shifts, unseen,
a gentle breathing out
warm words leave on a draught
a hum no more than that.

From man to woman
no sign given or expected, just
cold passion and bitter handshakes,
it is expected, nought else will do.

Fine intentions arrive muscles tensed,
disappointment mops its perspiring brow,
those nearest think hardest, to dance
and hotch closer to the fire.

Furrowed eyes around the world look on,
dice are tossed, cards are lain
influence masquerades as grains of sand
to spill through pocket holes.

The deck is scrubbed,
the rudder firm.

© Graham Sherwood 07/2016

Frown

(A quick observation from a TV programme).

eyes etched with regret

overpainted, suspicious

work face of the whore


© Graham Sherwood 07/ 2016

Scar

(written after listening to a WW1 survivor recorded in 1980).

Of course we were bloody afraid
squatting for what seemed like hours,
and hours, the worst bit
waiting on a bloody policeman’s whistle
to squeal out our advance,
one last thought of home
mum, dad, Doris and Bill
and there it is!
at last, we’re Up!
I hope it’s quick, whichever way it goes
and doesn’t hurt too much.
Our young captain called us heroes
but he was the first to go down
like a sack of spuds,
tripped me over, cut my lip
on his shattered helmet
poor bugger.
Don’t listen to them
if they tell you we ran,
we trudged, slowly,
stumbling through a bastard scream
waiting to be caught
by the buzz and ping
and the searing pain.
I’m ashamed to say I was lucky,
my knee’s fucked but  I got back
unlike Frank and Harry and Shiner!
All I brought home was a memory,
of that Captain’s helmet
and the scar on my mouth.
I see his face not mine
every day
when I shave.

© Graham Sherwood 07/2016