Gullabaloo

Sinister gulls that have never yet tasted the sea
bicker and squabble in chaotic aerial combat
wheeling diving rising banking 
like wind-blown litter
scavenging the frozen peas, thrown for the ducks.
Their frenetic cacophony scratches the air
that retaliates with violent twists and lashes
blowing food scraps towards the reeds
and the grateful cowering waterfowl.
As the miscreants disperse unsatisfied
and the afternoon’s melancholy 
re-settles like a veil to pacify the lake
only the cartoon hoots and tentative trills 
of the water-born traffic
break the sultry humour.

© graham sherwood 04/2018 

Glocean

A man pointed to the water, 
nodded sagely and said.
“Two oceans meet there
off Cape Leeuwin, 
there’s even a sign”.

How foolish.

For water has no boundary
cannot be marked by any man,
has no shape no form no line,
knows not of the ocean
nor sea, river, brook or spring.

But man must mark his maps
draw his imaginary lines
control what cannot be tamed,
he is content
to point out to the water
and call its name.

© Graham Sherwood 04/2018

Lines

I can only draw them
listings, diagonal with dates beneath,
faceless names that tug my heart
William, James, Sarah, Charles
Mary, Ann.

No pictures, no weathered creases
searching eyes or family noses
indelible identifiable,
John, Harry, Annie, William, Elizabeth.

No memories recounted, visits made
habits mocked achievements scored,
names repeated, infant deaths, census scribble
Dorothy, Mary, William again, Margaret, Harry too.

The ones I met but didn’t ask,
didn’t make the time, unimportant then
no holiday postcards no box brownie snaps
Judith, Diana
and me!

Graham Sherwood 04/2018