Being ginger, I last longer, even longer than the old Duracell batteries, because the idea of me, is far, far older than the idea of the battery, and having been around for so long, I’ve had so much longer to learn, and to master, all that there can possibly be to master. To master allContinue reading “A Something Poem – Master of The Wait”
Tag Archives: poet
Corrugated
Hands. Skin of middle-age – corrugated. Not quite attractive, but just enough, to keep the rain out – to keep the muscles, and the bones, inside, but not enough, to prevent the veins from bobbling on out of my me-ness. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, March 2019 Image by RonPorter, courtesy ofContinue reading “Corrugated”
Carsuming
Your car consumes me. I get in and it rolls backwards down the drive before I’ve even shut the door, trying to take me with it, trying to swallow me, but failing. Failure rises up from the floor, trying to nip me, trying to grab another chance to mix me in with its tides ofContinue reading “Carsuming”
To Anna Soubry
‘heavy heart’ makes sad souls soar and pens glide with dreams re-opened Copyright owned by Jay Cool, February 2019 Image courtesy of Pixabay.com Poem composed in response to Anna Soubry’s resignation from the Conservative party, Tuesday 20th February, 2019.
Doldrum Blue
‘Butterfly Blue’ image by Stergo (Pixabay.com) As doldrum blue adorns the sky Frost, the poet, tattoos my thigh His butterfly, I try to shoo It’s ice-cold burn bites me right through It’s not my thing to have the sky Complete with bugs upon my thigh I try to say I love it not But doesContinue reading “Doldrum Blue”
What do I buy so many books?
‘Narrative’, courtesy of Pixabay.com Why do I buy so many books; far more than I can read? The answer’s simple, you will see; a look is all I need! I spy The Catch (1) upon the shelf; of Smith’s in Colchester. I did not come for this to buy, so why not let it rest?Continue reading “What do I buy so many books?”
Pointlessness
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com Days escalate towards my end. At the end, will I remember me? Is there a point? Am I less or more than my end? When did I start? Will my end be like my start? Forgotten? Will I be less than the point of me? Is less more? A start? CanContinue reading “Pointlessness”
Me is More
‘Prairie Dog’ courtesy of Pixabay.com If my lover loved me fully Wore my poems in her hair I would play for her a love song I know she wouldn’t care My flat notes would be tuneful The twanging strings so cool She’d look at me as in a dream N’er take me for aContinue reading “Me is More”
A Rushed Ending
‘Beach’ courtesy of Pixabay.com time circling itself each round of the circle getting smaller each weekend seeming shorter passing quicker than the one before until Copyright owned by Jay Cool, January 2019 Inspiration take from ‘Mexicans Lost in Mexico’ by Nico Amador. Who is Jay Cool?
Day 7:1 This is Wem
Visiting my Webb ancestors in the quagmires of Dawley, yesterday, had to be done. But, although the old souls did their best to evoke a quality setting for a gothic novel (guard your spot on the shelf of Waterstones, closely, Stephanie Meyer!), the experience somehow lacked my No. 1 qualifying criteria as a genealogist’s hotspot.Continue reading “Day 7:1 This is Wem”
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 