Poem 8
A series of very short poems and non poems about the normal things in life

There was a scrunched up bit of paper
It sat in the corner of a room
It was Tuesday

A rhyme about cheeses
Brie, Brie, I love thee
Please won't you get into me
Camembert, Stilton and craft cheese slices
That last one is not the nicest

At 4 o'clock each day, he ran
Except on the days he didn't run
On those days he did different things instead

With a start, he woke
His vision still blurred from his nights sleep
The dawn had broke
At the end of his bed was a figure
As black as coke
Murmuring the words he dreaded
"Wake up, it's time for work!"

A car drove by.
It stopped at the light.
The Lights turned green.
The car turned right.

There's some water on the floor
I should probably mop that up
But doing that's a bore
So I'm just going to leave it

I just picked up a *****
When I rotate it in my hands covering both ends the thread seems to be coming out of my fingers.
But it isn't
And I need to fit this door handle

It's tea time
I was going to make salmon
But I'd don't have any in
So I'll make gammon

The sense of loss
Remorse
He's dead
The end of a long cold winter
His batteries are finally flat
I'll have to call the RAC

Building a wall
Don't let them fall
You need to overlap them all

There was a cat who sat on a mat
In the middle of September
The cat walked lazily from the mat
It was still September

The miracle of growth
From nothing to something
The surprise when you haven't seen them for a while
Then, there they are. Big heads smiling up at you
Then you squeeze the head between your forefinger and thumb and wipe away the **** with a tissue.

On
Off
Colour
White
Up
Down
Light
Dark
Night
Day
"Timmy,­ stop playing with that light switch! You'll blow a fuse!

Hiding in a corner of a darkened room
Eyes covered hoping he can't see me
I hear the footsteps growing closer
A shudder down my spine
Is this excitement or fear?
Then I hear my fathers voice outside
"Coming, ready or not!"

David Cameron goes to the loo
He doesn't suspect a number 2
He ends up with trousers covered in poo

A Christian man and a Muslim woman sat on a train
I question, why do they not speak to each other?
Is this about race?
Colour?
Language?
Religion?
Gender?
Personality?
Coincidenc­e?
And who is at fault?
Who is ignorant? Who is afraid?
The answer is neither.
They were in different carriages.
On different days.
In different parts of the country.
There was no realistic possibility of conversation.

Many people dislike violence
The pained screeching puts many off
But if you're brought up with it from a young age
You can really start to hone your use of violence...
Sorry, stupid autocorrect!! I mean violins!!!

He enters the house
She watches as he walks past without speaking
Just like every day
He does not offer her a cup of tea
He does not offer to cook for her
He doesn't even look her in the eye
She looks down at her food
A meal for one
Again
She is alone
So she tucks the food into her pouch and goes for a spin in the hamster wheel... Wheeeeee!!!

There's a surprise on the way
A bun in her oven
I'm scared it might be mine
She's crap at cooking

What light through yonder window breaks?
Tis the garage light of the neighbour opposite
I hate that c**t