[a word from our sponsors]

well, i'm not a 'sponsor' of this blog anywhere near as much as i am a self-indulgent "people's poet", but i do realise that i haven't posted anything on here for quite some time. like the great miles davis, i am diverging onto so many different tangents that i've basically lost the plot of what it is i wanted to write in the first place (not that i'm implying miles "lost the plot"). poems, scripts, stories - i guess the phrase that seems most relevant to me right now is "a finger in every pie". the only problem, however, is that these pies are very much still baking. in fact i've only just put them in the oven. actually, to regress even further, i don't think i've quite got the right ingredients. bad metaphor? i thought so. enough self-deprecation, i intend to have some fresh words on here imminently and i'm hoping it will be something of interest to all who are concerned with this blog.

until next time.

Poem #3

The familiar smell of stale rain,
A reunion with the overcast,
These happenings from the sky,
Slowly remind me of the past.


The weather
makes me stand and remember
of days gone by, days of the past.

Goodbye

Hugh woke up one day and realised he was worrying about something. Whatever required so much of his negative attention this time had completely eluded him, but he could feel it was serious; as if it were eating away at the deepest recesses of his soul. If he was to describe this feeling to someone he knew - a family member or a friend, say - they would no doubt snort with laughter and claim he was being his usual melodramatic self. How could someone worry about something when they didn't even know what that 'something' was? "Pathetic" they'd say, wrapped around phrases such as "absurd" and "ridiculous".


Hugh didn't feel any of those words were relevant to how he felt, quite the opposite - surely worrying about one's own personal well-being is far from "pathetic" and to ignore this issue would be the genuine "absurdity" of such a situation. He found himself becoming intensely angry with the people surrounding him, realising that if they ever came to him with some sort of personal issue he would undoubtedly try his hardest to help them in any way he could. Unfortunately, his situation was a source of amusement for these people.

When he finished writing his note, he paused for a moment and then proceeded to scratch a simple rhyming couplet at the end of the piece of paper; "I tried and failed, my sadness prevailed. Goodbye."

Weather

Sun

Sun beats down
On this gritty industrial estate,
Our lips entwined,
I feel my soul elate.

Rain

Tears fall from the sky
As if it were fate,
Walking off into the distance,
I wish she would wait.

Believe me when I say
I pray for the sun's glow,
But this crying slate of grey
Is now all I know.

Lack of Tears

the doctors told me i had one hour to live,

it was with very grim faces

that they announced the news with.

tell me is it wrong,

that i thanked them for the news?

"you must have heard us wrong" they said

"life's a game and you lose."

still shocked by my smiling,

and my act of whiling

away the final minutes of my life,

they leave me alone,

'ring ring' goes the phone,

on the other end is my wife;

no noises emerge -

..............................

"i take it you've heard?"

"SCREAM, BAWL, CRY,

WHY WHY WHYYY"

confirms my suspicions,

i wish she would listen,

to the reasons why

i feel the need to die.