I don’t mind her reading passages from ‘The Secret Garden’ before breakfast each morning , if only she didn’t go around the house the rest of the day speaking with a Yorkshire accent
*have you read ‘The Secret Garden’ or seen the film?
*when’s the last time someone read to you?
*what’s the most difficult accent you’ve had to contend with?
I do not trust the calm
I know within its placid arms
lie the seeds of alarm
The cat is the forgotten candidate when they fight:
sure, they hurt each other but the cat recoils too,
even the walls and lounge chairs at the suddenness,
the squall of this. The walls and sofas cannot move,
but the cat can. Exit, pursued by bear. Only small,
but with the memory of an elephant. The cat remembers
long after they forget.
I’m staying in with a friend today.
Like me he doesn’t look for other company.
We’ll probably lounge around, watch Netflix, maybe go out the back for a spot of sun if it’s shining then back inside.
Telly, sleep, periodic caffeine hits.
Don’t answer the door if someone knocks.
Maybe check out this post to see if it’s got any likes or comments.
Think about food a little later.
More caffeine so we can stay awake long enough to eat it.
Not enough to bust any moves. No, No, No dancing today.
Oh and more meds to fight off this fucking cold — sorry, buddy —
which as the Kinks say, ‘has really got a hold on me.’
Cue Dave Davies. And The Two Ronnies.
So it’s goodnight from me, and goodnight from him.
I thought I’d sit down with it
Knock back a few beers
Chew the cud of all those years
But I couldn’t get into it
I couldn’t be bothered
I just wanted to get out
No tears, no recriminations,
Start a new life
Go on perhaps my last adventure
A modest one but still.
The blossoms were out
And so was I.
I wasn’t over the hill
Yet.
When people down the track
Ask me, how was it?
I’ll say, read this poem.
This is how it was.
1
The spider’s squandered his chances.
The fly sits on the shelf.
The sun preens itself in the mirror
Studying the glory of itself
2.
Deposited on the mat
Early one morning
A furry centaur
A gift from cat
Half bloodied stalk
Half grey rat.
You’re barking up the wrong tree, he said.
I don’t care, I snapped.
But you’re barking, he said. People don’t do that.
It’s my backyard, I said. I can bark if I want to.
I guess so, said the man, patting me warily on the head as I wagged my tail against his chinos.
I’ve had it for a fortnight.
I use it on and off.
I clutch it to my real heart
when I splutter, or cough.
It helps absorb vibrations
shocks that might cause harm.
It keeps my body steady
and my spirit calm.
It is soft and cuddly
Pale red and bare.
Like Linus and his blanket
I take it everywhere.
They came at me when I was at my most vulnerable.
I had just got up
And gone outside to pee
and was crunching on a few cheese crackers.
“Give us yer loot!” the big one intimated
With hard, implacable eyes,
Big bony dagger drawn.
So I did
Throwing the crackers at them.
They grabbed it in their beaks and flew off
Black cloaks drawn around them
Into the big blue sky.
Don’t be creepy, I said, as she slunk down the passageway when she heard me
come inside and began circling the bowl.
I just fed you an hour ago.
But she looked up at me with her one cold, implacable eye.
Look at you, I said. You’re tubby.
I’m not fat, she said, Just fluffy. Will you please feed me?
I had no comeback for that.
You can’t argue with a cat.
John Malone 