June days 12, 13 and 14!

Boxes Knife Ineptitude

Ineptitude hides me, boxing me in
Hauls me by my scruff and shakes hard
Stifles my breath and grinds my teeth
Plucks at my skin and leaves a burn
Ruins my hair and makes my face a joke
But the knife slices me free and the box lies empty.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dream big, Be grateful, Give love, Laugh lots

Today I am being and doing all the things in the title a little more than I did yesterday.    These are not ground breaking statements, in fact they are what I jotted down from a Wordle poster I was spending more time reading than I should have done during a tedious meeting the other day.  But they stuck with me, and as I usually remember very little, being cursed with a memory like that kitchen implement with very small holes in it, I feel that this imbues them with a certain 'specialness', a truthfulness if you will. Now I honestly believe that I have a very good life, I am happy and I want for nothing that is necessary to keep body and soul together.  Okay, so I don't have that pony I've wanted since I was seven and neither am I Mrs Jake Gyllanhall, but those gripes aside, I am very lucky. Of course, it is human nature to not recognise this (by choice or happenstance) most of the time.  There are so many things to divert the mind after all... from the big...
Read more

Poetry day 21

Museum Take a walk around the museum, why don’t you? Look over there, that’s your first holiday in Spain, Remember the photograph? Short bobbed hair, shorter skirt - but it was the sixties, There’s a drink in your hand, And you’re sat on a boy’s lap whose name you couldn’t recall, You are young and happy. Look this way, it’s snowing in the back garden, Your daughter is there in a white fluffy coat, She looks like a tiny snowball, You are a mother. And just over here, You’re in Thailand, And there, at a party sat looking bored at a table, You came home with an orchid trapped in a plastic case, On a beach wrapped in a towel with two freezing children, Playing with the kittens; dragging a piece of string for them, Sat in the garden with a cup of tea and a biscuit, You are you.
Read more

Poem 8

Meatspace She said to meet here, But I think I'm in the wrong place. She definitely said here, There is a lot of blood in the air. I wish I'd got her number, A smell of death oozing into my pores. This is not exactly date friendly, Sharp blades and tufts of hair. I think it's time to leave, This is not my idea of a fun meet space. I have no idea what a meatspace is but apparently it is in the Urban dictionary so I'm now going to look it up!
Read more