Noises Off

It’s a quiet house now, but

still the refrigerator grumbles

several times a day,

chuntering grudgingly

evasive in the corner, like

an old man in a public lavatory

having difficulty with a troublesome fly button,

immersed in some personal 
but secret commentary.

In the same room, and

not to be outdone

a splendid kitchen clock

a headmistress in the making

claps out loud, for attention at

twenty-to the hour,

but strangely

she only applauds us twice a day.

After the heating has been on, and

the house cools of an evening,

the radiators stolid

as a pair of opening batsmen

retire for the day un-bowled,

sending a turbulent creak

through spare-bedroom Jim

who settles by turning over in contracting huff.

I, prone on the small sofa

need to mimic a corpse

for fear of releasing a random fart

from the highly-polished leather,

dissatisfied with the knowledge

that no-one will believe it wasn’t me.

It’s a quiet house now

there’s only two of us.

© Graham Sherwood 05/2017

Masoch

It is the fiercest of beasts

that gnaws our wits

wakes us from peaceful slumber

and gives relentless chase.

We alone

have curated this voracious animal

and are now its slaves,

it needs us not, but

keeps us in this benign captivity

having locked us up

within its cage,

invisible, indomitable, and

of our own precise fabrication.

Thus, we are doomed to wither

until our blessed release,

the monster slain

and us, left

free to roam eternity.

© Graham Sherwood 05/2017

Embrace

I'd never held 

a man in my arms,

forty-five years married

and the closest
is a handshake, 

or one of these new 

man-hugs with my sons,

but there you were 

at my front door
almost immediately falling 

onto me,
I was surprised 

at your weight you not 

being a big man
but you pulled me down

and very shortly we were 

both on our knees
you crying, 

me confused,
I held you tightly, 

clasped you chest to chest, 

chin on your shoulder,
aware of your snot 

and tears on my ear,

then I saw the uniforms

she's dead Graham

Norma's dead!

© Graham Sherwood 05/2017/2024

Embarkation

Before undertaking its last journey,

whether it be through

air water fire or earth

a soul must be carefully prepared;

well clothed within the

warming fibres of contentment;

adequately nourished by

the clarity of conscience,

armed discretely

with the power of purpose

and taught to be fluent

in the infinite lexicon

of enlightenment,

thus a soul fed of such riches

fears nought, indeed it

relishes the uncertainty

that awaits its embarkation.

© Graham Sherwood 04/2017