Tuesday, 22 August 2017 19:27

A Quick Fix

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This evening I had a go at mind-mapping what I wanted to write - the first time I've used that technique to write, well, anything really (I think)! Then from that I just wrote a whole bunch of phrases to try and capture succinctly what I was writing about without editing it. Then I worked it up into this poem - the longest poem I have ever written! I'm more than a little chuffed with it and will definitely give the mind-mapping technique another go. Feedback appreciated. Email: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
 
A Quick Fix

The call came
I answer it
She utters the password

The black hole opens
I fall in
The sofa breaks my fall.

Death waits in the kitchen
I pass it by, reluctantly.
 
I am driving a car
Tears roll down my face
I long for wipers
 
I am a driving hazard
I long to be a romantic ending 
 
The band plays on
I am neither sexy nor a boy
Not anymore.
 
I walk the same path
Enter the same door
Meet the same receptionist 
The last seven weeks or more.
She ushers me away
 
I am in the Harley-Steet-harking waiting room
No expense spared
None the less
A scene of devastation 
 
My senses in chaos
Leather and furniture polish 
Cold walls and roaring fire
 
This is the Country Life
Full of nonsensical words 
An over-familiar tone
Spilling over
With hope and aspiration 
I am an alien.
 
She offers the doctor
For what use?
For whose need?
 
I ache
Longing for the return
Should never have left
What value has life?
 
My heart needs fixing
This instant
I know just the man 
Always dependable 
 
He's not here for me
I am here for him.
 
My mind steps forward 
Sun-eclipsed
Recoils
I retreat into past light
 
Sunlit days on the grass
We hold hands again
I need not let go this time
Prise his fingers from mine.
 
The black hole nears
I feel it's suck.
 
She returns with the brew
The gesture is concern
The moment is normal 
As before, the world still turns 
 
I am horrified 
The audacity of it!
'Stop The World I Want To Get Off'

The music has stopped
Words sheared of their tune
Cacophony.

The tea is warm and sweet
Reminders of him
 
A porcelain cup and a corpse
The unfairness of the exchange 
"What is your returns policy?"
 
The walls receive my pleas
I still wait for an answer
There is none.
Read 318 times Last modified on Wednesday, 30 August 2017 11:02