I can only tell you
what I have told you before.
The rain drops
from the smoky sky,
pewter pellets.
It is quiet
except for the sporadic
crackle of a shout
from a neighbour.
The postman is a bloom
of red outside the window.
Straggly wires sprout
from my chin,
the phone rings
and nobody answers.
Headlines slide
across the television,
repetition.
Newspaper stains
my fingers,
a journalist’s black
perhaps inaccurate words.
Another day
becomes another day,
another month.
The sun rises
and falls,
indecisive light.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
I can only tell you
what I have told you before.
The rain drops
from the smoky sky,
pewter pellets.
It is quiet
except for the sporadic
crackle of a shout
from a neighbour.
The postman is a bloom
of red outside the window.
Straggly wires sprout
from my chin,
the phone rings
and nobody answers.
Headlines slide
across the television,
repetition.
Newspaper stains
my fingers,
a journalist’s black
perhaps inaccurate words.
Another day
becomes another day,
another month.
The sun rises
and falls,
indecisive light.
Written: May 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time - feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
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