Can Someone Feel like a Car?

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Can someone feel like a car?

A burnt out car?

That’s how he feels at the moment.

Run down. Abandoned. Torched.

Oh, he’s bit of a drama queen, he knows

But it helps if you’re a poet.

Conveyancers, Real Estate Agents, Bank Managers

& the endless decluttering.

He always wanted to be a minimalist

So now he is.

And that countdown. Prisoners on Death Row

Must feel it.

The drama queen again.

Less than three weeks now.

He better get on with it and stop blogging!

 

Looking for Dodos

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I was walking through the new state-of-the-art library

Looking for a book of poems, any book of poems.

It was like looking for dodos in the zoo

or passenger pigeons in the sky.

Do you still keep poetry books? I asked the librarian.

I’m not sure , she said.

She had to do a search

Then called the chief librarian who came with a swagger

Looking for that rarest thing— a poetry book.

Here, she said. Here they are.

They were squeezed Between ‘War’ and ‘Sports’,

The whole Western World’s canon reduced

to ten books on a tiny shelf.

And the ultimate irony?

There were more books on extinct animals than poetry.

I checked.

 

do you see evidence of the death of poetry?

when’s the last time you bought a poetry book? or borrowed one?

 

The Kite and the String

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I am reading a manual called ‘The Kite and the String’

Because I have trouble getting my thoughts

off the ground;

 

They run away from me like that fifty dollar note

The wind caught while I was crossing

the main road;

 

the writer taught the need to ‘abandon’ and ‘control’;

a kite that lifts and a string that unspools just enough to let the kite

fly happily along

 

but not so much that it gets caught

In power-lines or entangled in its own tail.

I like that very much.

 

The kite is the thought

and the string the firm hand of the poet

that keep that thought aloft

The Factory

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The factory’s closed, he said.

Closed? As in Closed Down?

No, the security guy chuckled. Closed for repairs, renovations.

I understood.

I had been going there for years, churning out my poetry, those little dispatches from the frontiers of perception. Lately however the software had stopped working, the hardware was getting cranky too.

Someone had noticed.

When will it be re-opened? I asked.

Soon, he said. We’ve got people working on it. You work here or something?

You could say that. Guess I need a break too just as much as the machines. Thanks anyway.

He watched me go as I trudged down the street. I gave him a little wave just before I turned the corner.

 

Sparrow in the Library

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I saw a sparrow hop across the carpet

in the library

toward the Express Collection Shelf.

I flicked my head

like an illusionist’s cape

& it was gone.

I went back to the article about Stevie Van Zandt

& his Summer of Sorcery Tour

& the sparrow

appeared again.

With another flick of my head

it reassembled

into a series of tan dots — & dashes.

Time to head off

to the optometrist again.

Hope is the Helium

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I was down in the dumps when someone praised

A recent poem of mine.

I know we should be immune to Praise

And Criticism

But it’s hard not to be lifted

Like a hot air balloon

Above the petty doubts and grievances

That beset us all

And to bask in the warm sun of appreciation

Knowing that, yeh, we’re okay,

We’re going to get there

We are not alone.

Hope is the helium that keeps us aloft.

 

can you think of an occasion when praise made a difference in your life?

what is the helium that keeps you aloft?

That Little Guy

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I don’t know how to take the mattress that’s been dumped in our driveway.

Admittedly it’s not as bad as the dead cat that was dumped in our rubbish bin.

But it’s harder to get rid of.

It’s an affront.

You eye yr neighbors suspiciously.

Suspect the crotchety old bloke across the road.

And then you do something nutty.

You drag it up the driveway and dump it on the street.

You don’t think. You react.

That little guy inside yr head.

Someone in the middle of the night drags it back.

So you ….

It’s like a tug-of-war.

So what’s yr next move?

One thing’s for certain.

Yr not going to take this lying down.