Jan 2017
A grotty morning.
Grass pecked by frost overnight,
lead fug in the air
and I'm walking a mile
in uncomfortable shoes.
The receptionist
warbles a song I don’t know.
Ten minutes of maths
followed by the typical
compote of questions again.
Two year four children
navigate me past classrooms,
primary colours,
shaking hands and nodding heads,
facts that drizzle over me.
Hours pass, phone cries.
The answer swells blister-like.
It’s thanks but no thanks.
He pours advice, wishes well.
I hurtle back to the start.
Grass pecked by frost overnight,
lead fug in the air
and I'm walking a mile
in uncomfortable shoes.
The receptionist
warbles a song I don’t know.
Ten minutes of maths
followed by the typical
compote of questions again.
Two year four children
navigate me past classrooms,
primary colours,
shaking hands and nodding heads,
facts that drizzle over me.
Hours pass, phone cries.
The answer swells blister-like.
It’s thanks but no thanks.
He pours advice, wishes well.
I hurtle back to the start.
Written: January 2017.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time for university. It is a tanka, a Japanese form of poem, where the structure is 5, 7, 5, 7, 7 syllables. Feedback welcome. Please be aware there may be edits to this piece in the near future. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the future.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time for university. It is a tanka, a Japanese form of poem, where the structure is 5, 7, 5, 7, 7 syllables. Feedback welcome. Please be aware there may be edits to this piece in the near future. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the future.
