What would it be like
if you had no phone
to store your contacts
or hold music, you own?
How could you survive
without constant pings
to flash messages
and all that it brings?
When you’re pondering
or wait for the train
there’d be no e-book
to entertain your brain.
to disturb your thoughts.
the answers they sought.
No instant forecasts
about wind or rain.
To ease spelling pain.
Would you miss all the photos
you’ve been driven to take?
Would you dare to try
a technology break?
Fox-red rabbit with snowdrop paws
peeping through the sodden grass.
Unaware that black cat ears
are just a whisker away.
A car backfires, shotgun loud.
Hind legs jerk, and rabbit’s gone.
Black cat sits, back straight, searching;
reveals his sinister intent.
Whiskers tweak, he stalks away.
Just me sitting on the cold floor,
breaking my heart for my shadow child.
A child wanted and lost.
Sleep comes to comfort me,
to disrupt the raw aching pain.
Temporary oblivion brings a brief peace.
In my dream we are together.
There is still a future and a bond
that will bind us for all time.
The telephone ring echoes,
piercing through this empty void,
crashing me back to wakefulness.
There’s no one here at the moment
just me, sitting in my shadow world,
hoping she can hear me calling.
Lovers meet under famous clock.
Multi-faced Victorian time piece
standing proud above the crowds.
Passed unnoticed by Cheshire folk,
but snapped by happy cameras
of international visitors.
Jugglers perform mesmerizing stunts
to amazed, a massed congregation,
demonstrating agile, versatility.
Graceful hidden cathedral,
genteelly populated with helpful guardians
emits enchanting sounds.
Fascinating feathered fascinators
in glittering translucent, gowns
totter over ancient cobbled streets.
Tasting delicious delicacies
before gambling and spectating
at Riverbed racecourse.
Congested roads and car parks
containing long, lounging, limousines
divulge well-dressed, orange people.
Are they envious of flat shoe girl,
sauntering through the morning
enjoying Costa coffee and carrot cake?
The lone singer lends deep, soulful voice
to unite the lovers
and creates sensual memory.
Mindless sheep dash from shop to shop
as if they race against the clock,
collecting copious colourful bags.
Two miles of red sandstone walls,
once walked by lovers from centuries past
now are broken.
Blocked. Unsafe. In need of repair.
Standing since Roman days.
Circling the City’s timeless treasures.
In the Spring of her life,
she held the buttercup beneath her chin
to see if she liked butter.
In busy, happy days she threaded daisies
and gave delicate necklaces in friendship.
In the Summer of her life,
she birthed her babies with her lover
and found the meaning of commitment,
like Irises that share their beauty
each year in generous bounty.
In the Autumn of her life,
her hair turned from Auburn brown to slate.
Movements slowed and pained,
like leaves that drift to the ground
and carpet it with rust.
In the Winter of her life,
her skin furrowed with deep crevices,
like the earth ploughed for the coming year.
New seeds are waiting to be sown
and she thinks in fondness of the Spring.
You didn’t understand my plight
and I hear impatient sigh,
but use your eyes and see me
I’m not walking but running.
She used to be so agile,
singing and dancing the night,
but now she procrastinates,
annoys and irritates.
Can’t you see I’m trying
to fit into your busy lives,
forever aiming to catch up
not walking but running.
Inspired by Not Waving but Drowning by Stevie Smith
Thanks for visiting this site. You’ll find lots of poems here and hopefully some you enjoy. If you would like to leave a comment that’d be great. Perhaps you’d like to post a poem here. I’d be happy to have guest bloggers.
You can read my short stories and other writing at www.pennyluker.wordpress.com
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