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Tag Archives: Prose

The Old Men … #Poem#Poetry#Prose

The Old Men

The old men in this isle will stop,
when they’re on their weekly shop.
Magazines they read, for a while,
as one by one – stand single file.

A trolley they have with nowt within,
appears their shopping, yet to begin.
Partners will come and take it away,
glance up they will – with nothing to say.

They make no move, their partners to chase,
’tis not yet read, may loose their place.
When finished they will dawdle on,
’tis then they think – where have they gone?

A § M
3/12/2017

 

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/writing

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A Stokie Thanksgiving… #Poem#Poetry#Prose

A Stokie Thanksgiving

 

The American flag flaps with a vigour in strong gusts,
gently retuning to rest in the sparse lulls of the Stoke wind.
Thanksgiving the celebration, for the Clubhouse Network.

As burgers are flipped and ‘dogs’ are turned,
fat drips and lands with a sizzle.
Flames from the hot coals lick the burgers edge.
The smell is carried on plumes of smoke.

Joyful chatter is carried also with the wind as spirits are high,
but few stay outside, braving the nip in the air of winters approach.
I sit on the bench, taking the one dry section left,
covered it seems from the rain of the morn.

Downwind of it all I sit, watching, observing.
Being part of it all, yet ever so separate.
Until, unnoticed, I slip away.

 

A § M
3/12/2017

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/writing

Shoes…#Poem#Poetry#Prose

Black buckled boots that old ladies wear, polished, clean and smart,
walk with the brown leather shoes that old men wear, with pride in their heart.
Tan lines of stress marble the surface.

Tassels on toes, with every step jiggle and sway,
child with soles flashing, around checkout will play.
Exhaustion on the mothers voice.

Sandals paired with socks are made to walk alone!

Trainers are common, rarely are clean.
Except fro the old folk, who keep them pristine.
Even the soles show no dirt.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Doc Martin’s on mans feet are worn,
paired with ladies battered pink Converse, looking lovelorn.
Neither look happy.

Then there are walking boots, my choice of footwear,
from supermarket to hilltop, they go anywhere.
— But here they do sit.

 

 

A § M
10/2017

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/writing

Blank Blank Blank…#Poetry#Poem#Prose

There is nothing to write,
I’ve been at it all night.
Here is pen, and pa-per,
and there’s notes, to re-fere.

But with no inspiration,
there is just desperation.
I scratch head for a thought,
brings forth nothing, nada — nought.

I stare unto the page,
for what seems like an age.
But nothing will come,
and nothing is done.

I scribble at the top of the page.

A § M
6/6/2017

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/writing

Fall…#Poem#Poetry#Prose

The leaves are falling from the trees above,
covering the ground in a blanket of colour.
All around I see squirrels – hopping and jumping from one pile to another.
They stop, and sift through the leaves, searching for the nuts hidden bellow.
Some, they eat, right there where they found them,
others run up to a branch preferring to be out of sight,
only coming back down after the meal is had.

I observe one who takes his nuts to an old garden shed and enters in a hole not repaired.
I wonder how safe those nuts are, stored on a seed tray, left on the floor.
Not used for the winter, undisturbed, with a lock on the door.
Sheltered from the wind and the rain that has been so present of late,
and from the cold and the snow that winter promises to bring.
A bag of straw, saved for next year, makes for a comfy chair to lay back upon.
Relaxed, not having to remember where it was those nut were buried.

Yes, I think that this clever little squirrel has got winter sorted for this year.

 

A § M
10/2017

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/writing