January 12, 2022

 

 

She found five pens

in her bag today,

all competing

for her attention.

 

She found eight pens

on her bedside table,

but what they had written

she dare not mention.

 

She found two pens

on the ledge in the loo,

which she approached

with some apprehension.

 

She found seven pens

in a vase in the kitchen,

for spur of the moment

comprehension.

 

She found ten pens

in pockets of old coats,

when held back in class

for detention.

 

She found four pens

under furniture,

loitering with

good intention.

 

She found one pen

in her hand right now,

so to paper she committed,

God grant her redemption.

 

written by

Harriet Blackbury    January 2022

 

September 24, 2020

 

 

Q on the top line

clearly can be seen.

Followed by W and R

with E in between.

 

Next T, Y and U

in the middle, look fine.

Before I, O and P

complete the top line.

 

A, S and D –

the second line begin.

And to their right

F and G, squeeze nicely in.

 

H, J, K and L

claim a second row fee.

And the third line

begins with Z, X and C.

 

With V and B sitting

perfectly next to them.

The third row is completed

by ‘good old’ N and M.

 

 

October 27, 2019

 

 

Her tender lips, define her face.

Her swaying hips, so full of grace.

 

The little dimples in her cheeks.

The lilting accent when she speaks.

 

Her mind complex, so complicated.

Her answers not anticipated.

 

The thoughts that linger, when she goes.

The vision of her upturned nose.

 

Her cheeky smile, her goodbye glance.

Her carefree walk, her sprightly dance.

 

The lasting moments, there to treasure.

The mine of memories, that bring pleasure.

 

All that she is, I wouldn’t change,

or one thing, would re-arrange.

 

To me, Mendotta, was my fate.

To me – the world, alas too late!

 

 

June 29, 2019

 

 

And she the one,

the one without a name

who burns inside of me

such bright a flame.

 

And melts my heart

with passion and delight

and keeps me safe

when I am full of fright.

 

And she the one,

the one who doth excite

and bestows on me

sweet dreams throughout the night.

 

That help me wake

afresh at morning light

and lift my spirits

up to dizzy heights.

 

And she the one,

the one I won’t forget

when I grow old

and other things regret.

 

For life without her

wouldn’t be worthwhile.

and to my grave

I’ll take Mendotta’s smile.

 

 

May 19, 2019

 

 

And then Percoughalees was homeward bound.

Too brief his stay – the turn around.

No job the same, but who’s to say,

how rough the ocean from day to day.

 

A back-log of cases in his head.

Some still unsolved, not put to bed.

The rumour mill, the twisted thread.

The wasted time, the signs unread.

 

The handsome pay-out, the mislaid dime.

Blues shaken off, until next time.

Where angels tread, where devils lie;

A world of fear, the hue and cry.

 

The badge of honour, so proudly worn.

A loving heart, with edges torn.

And as the seconds ticked slowly by,

in frustration, Percoughalees heaved a sigh.

 

As a recurring vision of Mendotta’s face,

once more taking root, in his memory’s space.

Was she still on earth? Did she still exist?

Her departure sudden, like evening mist.

 

At times like this, no sense was found.

The hurt blocked out by the crashing sound,

as choppy waters, met gentle ocean spray,

and sleep closed his eyes, to dream of yesterday.

 

 

 

August 17, 2018

 

 

They both arrived on cue,

each one wagging their tail –

though that’s not strictly true,

for they’d come by British Rail,

 

as no Virgin trains on the platform

to be mounted for the ride,

they had taken the escalator

to the other side.

 

and waited for an ‘Inter City’

recommended by their cat,

who had now become a home-bird,

because of this and that,

 

and who’s travelling days were over

and who wisely took the view,

to step aside and let the youngsters

do  what youngster do !

 

The next train at the platform

they decided wouldn’t do,

as their cat had strictly told them

that all journeys end at Crewe.

 

So with tails between their legs –

though that’s not strictly true,

they went down another escalator,

wondering what to do.

 

No Porter on this platform,

though one across the track,

who just completely ‘blanked’ them,

as he loaded a mail sack,

 

so with frustration building,

they sat down for a while,

and decided to ring their cat,

who, of course, was on speed-dial.

 

But their cat by now had settled,

and was in the land of nod,

so back up the steps they trundled,

and said  ‘ain’t life a sod ?’

 

But just then, to the rescue,

came magically into view –

the delayed train they had wanted,

and their excitement grew,

 

and then with both tails wagging –

if only that was true!

they took their waiting seats

and then the whistle blew.

 

 

 

August 12, 2018

 

 

Amber, Apricot & Apple Green –

Jersey potatoes nicely scrubbed clean.

 

Crimson, Caramel & Cerise Pink –

Peas from the pod drained in the sink.

 

Marigold, Mauve & Midnight Blue –

A hint of paprika in a rich stew.

 

Lemon, Lilac & Lily White –

Hot milk at bedtime for a restful night.

 

Purple, Peony, Peach & Plum –

Banana fritters laced with rum.

 

Shades of Denim and Army Khaki –

Toasted soldiers in eggs  – what a Malachi !

 

Powder Blue, Navy and Deep Magenta –

Coconuts, Mangoes, and Flying Fish  I sent her.

 

Scarlet, Strawberry & Ruby Red –

Blacksticks cheese, with Sourdough bread.

 

Turquoise, Tangerine, Taupe & Tan – 

catching moon-dust in a dustpan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

!

 

 

August 3, 2018

 

 

She never saw it coming –

she never had a clue.

It took a moment to sink in –

you and him and her and you.

 

She never would have thought it –

not in a million years.

Such things are just unthinkable –

her and you and him – nightmares!

 

She never saw it coming-

she never had a clue.

Some lines not meant for crossing –

somethings one shouldn’t do.

 

She never would have found out

without one being close by,

who stood aghast with eyes wide open,

peering through nets that didn’t lie.

 

She never would forget it –

the moment truth appeared,

the incredulous amusement –

irony on hind legs reared.

 

She never could dismiss it –

trust forever gone.

The certainty of certainties –

the lost bet that was odds on.

 

She never could unblock it –

in cycles it came to light.

She even questioned her own judgement,

looking back at dead of night.

 

She never saw it coming,

her and you and him, it’s true.

Never was a Holy Trinity

so absurd, and so taboo.

 

 

 

 

and cuckoos came

to other nests,

to lay their eggs –

who would have guessed?

 

a friendly offer

just a joke,

an empty shell

that held no yolk.

 

and sparrows small

in all innocence,

who, slow to focus

on common sense.

 

were soon put right

from a nearby tree,

when a shrewd woodpecker 

tapped out their plan B.

 

and cuckoos’ flew

as cuckoos’ do,

without a single 

toodaloo.

 

 

October 25, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

A room of words, on paper, strewn,

piled in corners, touching the moon.

 

A room of words, taking up much space;

standing room only, in this place.

 

A room of words – unedited tosh,

written when the mind was all awash.

 

A room of words, a life poured out;

drawers full of words, with roots that sprout.

 

A room of words on paper curled,

never released to the outside world.

 

A room of words, where thoughts expressed –

simply an outlet, when repressed.

 

A room of words – never explained.

The contents of, a heart when pained.

 

A room of words and forgotten schemes.

A life of fantasy and old pipe dreams.

 

A room of words where madness grew.

Solitude a killer – a witches brew.

 

A room of words  and damnation’s fate.

Sweat and tears by the hourly rate.

 

A room of words, where shadows dance –

each line depicts, a lost romance.

 

A room of words, where solace sought,

when a mind, untethered, to fantasy did resort.

 

A room of words, where truth concealed

ancient wounds that never healed.

 

A room of words, where mirrors reflect

the writers mood, and thoughts direct.

 

A room of words, where graffiti runs wild

around the head of an ‘only’ child.

 

A room of words where nouns provide,

the comfort of adjectives by their side.

 

A room of words, and repeated rhymes,

that bring to mind, the scene of the crimes. 

 

A room of words, with books unread –

‘originality’ a must, one writer said.

 

A room of words, that did restart

a fading beat, when stabbed through the heart.

 

 A room of words, in notebooks, old –

undated scribblings full of lice and mould. 

 

A room of words – never transferred

onto the latest icloud, as a pen preferred.

 

A room of words – a vault from hell,

housing love and laughter, and life too mad to tell.

 

A room of words, all covered in dust.

The door kept locked – nothing discussed.

 

A room of words, with a vacant chair.

Thank God, I got – the hell out of there.

 

 

 

 

 

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