The Rant that became a Poem
I’m always amazed how they go in
Then close the steel doors on themselves.
Haven’t these people any imagination?
Sometimes they are bunched up in there
like sardines in a can.
Speaking of cans I can’t help thinking of the Kursk
how those poor submariners were coffined
in a can.
Speaking of coffins, that’s what they remind me of.
My counsellor says I have too vivid an imagination.
Isn’t that what writers are supposed to have?
Anything can happen.
I think of ‘The Towering Inferno’ and those people
plummeting to their deaths when the lift cables
or in ‘Speed’ when they are cut.
And my counsellor says to calm my farm!
Speaking of farms I think of cattle being trucked
to the slaughterhouse and not knowing
till it’s too late.
And speaking of not knowing, and I promise I won’t
speak of ‘speaking of’ again but I bet poor old Nicolas White
never knew when he stepped into an elevator back in 2008
that he would be trapped in it for 41 hours.
No food. No drink. No cell phone. No company.
I don’t know if those people got out at the other end
but I’m taking the stairs.
It took 66 days for Bobby Sands to starve himself to death.
It took me many years to starve my mind of the fear of public speaking
& though I have come a long way & people praise my confidence
it is still a work-in-progress
- what fears have you overcome either partially or fully?
- mural in Belfast courtesy of Wiki Commons
There was a man in our street who had an apparition in the middle of an afternoon.
He was driving on a country road where on a whim he took a detour. His wife was beside him. They drove down the avenues and streets and occasional crescents till they realised they were caught in an infinity loop. The man began to panic. It was like that time he was stuck in a lift. He could feel his heart fibrillating, his bladder wanting to burst, his vision blurring but he held this from his wife who would accuse him of weakness.
That’s when he saw it, the apparition. It came for him, lumbering down some labyrinth in his brain, a Minotaur bristly and bellowing, big as a tank, barging into him. His heart stopped.
His wife never knew what happened but she found her way out.
A Long Angry Pair of Trousers
You could hear them growling
as they came up the street
bristling with fury
the long angry pair of trousers.
They were rumpled.
They were crumpled.
They had had a bad night.
They did not want to be there.
They were positively scopophobic
but he didn’t get it.
so they squinched his anatomy.
soiled the cuffs.
Had he not noticed?
But they were all he had
So he wore them
Those long angry pair of trousers.
Dodging the Bullet
So far I’ve dodged the bullet
The Damoclean sword
But I know it’s coming for me.
I have its word.
It’s waiting in the rafters.
It’s waiting in the pews.
It has interminable patience
& that is not good news.
It knows my area of weakness
My Achilles heel.
It’s waiting for me to slip up.
It knows I will.
It will not be beaten.
It will not be assuaged.
I open the door tentatively.
It maybe in the yard.
Some people can’t get over
but say that I’m far sillier :
I have arachnophilia .
Red-backs and huntsmen
I just love to visit
in grandad’s shed
while the backyard becomes
a construction site
where spiders build webs
on hot summer nights .