My mind is full of the things I mind about, and I mind. Mind you, to have less in my head of the things I mind about would be to be something less than myself, and that I really would mind. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, March 2019 Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay
Tag Archives: poetry
Resignation
A sign. May offers to resign. But, only if MPs accept her design. May’s not a loss, but why toe the line, if to give her the toss, we’ll swap her for twine? Even if Donald has excellent thighs, why tie up our produce in a tangle of lies? Copyright owned byContinue reading “Resignation”
Something Important
Today, she is told; today, she is surplus to requirements; no longer required in the gap between the squeeze to make a profit. Squished and squashed, until she can slip through the gap unscathed, she lands – plop – into a freshly-ploughed field. Fertilised, nourished and watered, she feels, for the first time, that sheContinue reading “Something Important”
The Long Moment
Longing for a long moment to come to be shorter, he demands to know, ‘How long?’ and receives no reply, just the elongating sound of silence, stretching out, out and stabbing into his head, his thoughts, his freedom to remain encapsulated and undisturbed, and his freedom to be momentarily himself, a freedom now lost foreverContinue reading “The Long Moment”
Happiness
Happiness – the substance of my life. The hapless old friend who comments on my blog posts, thoughtfully emailing me my response options, which include: cider, ha ha, and thanks! The app I’m told to install for discounts on Indian takeaways from Aysha; The tacking pins embedded in the paint-stained carpet of my creativeContinue reading “Happiness”
Passaged
Bundled. Bundled and bundling out of one’s passage, they fall. All woolled-up, and tangled-up with each other – tight. Heads protruding from sheaths. Translucent and streaked with blood. With one’s own blood. From the blood within the passage from whence they tumbled, all bundled-up and packaged. All packaged-up and white, I vomit, bundles and bundlesContinue reading “Passaged”
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”
A Continental Appearance
Wearing last Friday’s incontinence pad, he ambles on into a game-playing cafe in Colchester, thinking to play with the crowds. The crowds, thinking otherwise, disperse and exit. Out in the streets of a Roman stronghold, a centurion gives his orders, and the games continue; continental soldiers, with drip-drying-dangly bits, and wiped-with-shared-sponges bottoms, being impervious. Continue reading “A Continental Appearance”
Squashed In Between
At the end of the page I put my hand up and told, “I’ve finished the page, Miss! What do I do now?” “Stop shouting out!” she shouted. “And don’t ask silly questions!” So, I sat there for a while, not knowing what next to do. “Keep writing!” shouted Miss. “No-one’s told you to stop.”Continue reading “Squashed In Between”
Let Me Believe
Mortgages and wages and pensions are but pennies to be dished out in alleyways; out and into the woolly-pavement hat of a homeless bidder. Keys clanging, I go forth into my own future, in search of my not-quite-paid-up-for car. Croaking and spluttering, it, and I, start, spit and pause awhile, chewing on our hopesContinue reading “Let Me Believe”
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 